


Regency

by FaerieChild



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: #Historical, #Regency, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 80,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaerieChild/pseuds/FaerieChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in in 1814 after Napoleon's defeat and exile to Elba, Major General Sir Harry Pearce is a worn-out Army officer returning from years on campaign with his home life in tatters. The thought of the London Season fills him with dread until he is introduced to his god-daughter's chaperone, Miss Ruth Evershed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress and due to chapter length I hope you can understand something there is a bit of a wait between updates but I get them up when I can. I'll be honest, I love Regency fics but sometimes I feel there is a bit too much historical revisionism involved. My aim in writing this was to write a story for the Regency era that presented the political, economic and social climate of the era in the same way that Spooks does for the early 21st century. This includes the Napoleonic war, the 1812-15 war with the USA, the status of women and the institution of Slavery in the British Empire. I am aware that this story requires some editing and revision but I want to wait until I've finished writing it before going back and making revisions so I ask for your patience with any plot holes, typos and inconsistencies/historical errors that you may find.

Chapter 1

Major General Sir Harry Pearce stood in front of his desk and nudged a paperweight slightly. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it, the large mahogany desk in the richly furnished room. Oak panelling, Persian carpets, brass door knockers and an ornate fireplace with gaudy ceramics. Such an office was unthinkable as a young man when he'd first joined the Army. It was strange, all round, being back from war. One minute it was endless marches and battle plans and counts of the dead. The next, Napoleon is exiled to Elba and here he is, back in London. City of Empire. Certainly, the city he left is not the one to which he had come back.

Carefully, Harry glanced at the chair behind him and sat himself down. It was a slim, elegant design in wood and leather. The latest style. It didn't quite go with the old desk he'd been assigned but then, that hardly mattered.

In front of him was a packet. The orders he'd received this morning, his first day in his new office. Beside it was a pile of invitations his assistant had collected in his absence. Clearly news of his divorce had travelled fast. The fact that he'd agreed to his wife's request astonished many, Sir Harry knew, but a man who had spent most of the last twenty years away at war and in the company of many other women, could hardly hold his head up high and refuse the request. They were, after all, all but divorced already. Their relationship, what remained of it, was completely unworkable. He'd burned his bridges there long ago.

What surprised Harry more was that he had been successful in securing the Act of Parliament. No doubt there were those in position of government who felt that agreeing to pass his divorce was something that would curry favour with him should Sir Harry Pearce ascend as far as some expected. There were those who said he might end up in the most senior position of all within the Army. As it was, his desk was filled with invites to all the upcoming social events. With Napoleon Bonepart's defeat at the end of March 1814, Sir Harry had been unfortunate enough to return just as the social season was entering its prime with many young girls coming into society and hoping to secure a husband for themselves by the time Parliament broke up for the summer. With six weeks to go, the arrival of a single man of stature and fortune had clearly piqued the interest of many of the ruling aristocrats.

As he shifted the pile of invitations aside, Harry reminded himself to avoid as many of them as possible. Debutantes had never been his thing, more so since he aged. His wife had been a virgin when they married, arranged between their families. Now after years in the Military he swore away from young girls. As a red-blooded male he liked a mature, experienced woman more than any young rose. It was the married ones, more than the unmarried, that Harry was interested in.

Yet there would be time enough for summer flings. With his wife living apart and his son and daughter both refusing his letters, there was little for Harry to do but work.

Picking up the engraved letter opener at the side of his desk, Harry reached for his orders and broke open the seal.

With a great sigh, Sir Harry reminded himself to make an appointment with his tailor to order a new uniform. It seemed he wasn't getting out of the social season after all.

It was the fifth ball this week and Sir Harry was hovering in the corner with a fellow soldier he'd met on the continent. Avoiding the debutante crowd was a full time job at these things, but with his new assignment the invitations could not be refused.

"Spies?" Danny asked.

Sir Harry grunted in agreement and took a sip of punch from the ornate silver mug.

"I suppose I'd never thought about it."

"I only ask because I'll need men. A small team I can trust," Harry put a hand on Danny's shoulder and looked him straight in the eye.

Lance-Corporal Daniel Hunter had always been a favourite of Sir Harry's. Starting out as Sir Harry's assistant, the young black man had shown himself to be sharp and astute with an extraordinary capacity to blend in with almost any social or military situation. Harry had first taken the soldier on as his assistant at the request of Danny's father. Were the man's circumstances different Sir Harry had no doubt that Hunter would be a commissioned officer by now. As the illegitimate child of a slave and an aristocrat however, Danny would never achieve great rank. Yet precisely because others tended to underestimate him, Sir Harry had concluded the young man could prove quite useful and seeing the familiar face at yet another loathed ball had lifted Harry's dour spirits somewhat.

"All I need is for you to keep your ear to the ground. Hang out in the coffee houses, in the public bars, anywhere you think sedition is rife. What I need is information. Names. The slightest hint of French spies. I can't promise you awards or glory, but there will be a steady wage in it."

"In these dark days a steady wage is as good as a free man like me can hope for, I suppose," Danny mused. Although Hunter's father acknowledged him and favoured him even above his legitimate daughter, Sir Harry knew that Hunter liked to make his own way and objected to living off his father's income coming as it did from the family plantation in Jamaica. Looking around their present company however, neither of them could fail to notice the ill looks of others at the gathering at Danny's presence. No sane man in society would refuse entry to the most favoured son of Lord Hunter. Nevertheless, there were many within the upper class who felt a black man had no place being present in such a gathering. Not as a guest, at any rate. Such was the economic power of his father, however, that few could afford to ignore Lord Hunter's social whims.

"Your father brought you here, I take it?" Sir Harry pressed.

"He wants me to find a wife," Danny sighed. "A white wife," He added, "From a 'good family' whatever that means."

Harry took another sip of his punch and surveyed the room. "There are plenty who would take your money for a quiet life, Hunter. True friends will always value you for who you are."

Danny screwed up his face in disgust at the trite remark, turning away to hide his expression from General Pearce. He respected the old man greatly and he knew the senior officer meant well but Pearce would never, could never, understand what it was to be the son of a slave in society London.

As the conversation came to a close the music in the next room ended and shortly after there was a flood of people as men and women left the ballroom to let others take their place. Sir Harry carefully eyed the flood of new blood into the room and from his position near the punch bowl, noticed a dark-haired balding man of indeterminate middle age and a kindly expression. The collar around his neck showed him clearly to be a man of the church and Harry shouted him over, recognising the vicar from many years before.

"Malcolm!"

"Harry!"

"Its is you!" Harry grinned. "How good to see you! I find myself surprised, I thought you'd be out in the country."

"A short break. I'm visiting a cousin. Nice chap. New to London, said I'd show him the ropes..."

"Of course..." Harry muttered. The less said about Malcolm's 'cousins' in polite society, the better.

It was at this precise moment, as he was making conversation and quickly realising he should probably introduce Malcolm and Danny, that Sir Harry's eye drifted across the room to a point almost exactly across from where they were standing. A plain woman stood on her own against the wall, a fan in her hand. Her dress was modest, her eyes disinterested. Yet something about her drew Harry's eye. He couldn't stop staring.

"...down at Parliament the other day..." Malcolm continued talking, unaware of Harry's disinterest.

"Who's that over there?" Harry cut across his good friend, unaware at that moment that Malcolm was even still talking.

"Who?"

"That woman," Harry's eyes drifted back, "By the sideboard. Plain. Modest grey dress."

"Ruth?" Malcolm queried.

"You know her?"

"A second cousin. You remember Admiral Evershed? Died of typhus in the Med? Ruth's his daughter."

"Malcolm, my good man, is there anyone in London to whom you're not related?" Sir Harry teased.

Malcolm grinned at his old friend's good humour. "Would you like an introduction?"

"Don't be absurd," Sir Harry took another swill of punch as Danny laughed at Sir Harry's remark. "She strikes me as rather out of place, that's all."

"Yes, well, she's playing chaperone tonight. Its Zoe's first season."

"Zoe? Not little Zoe?"

"Hard to believe, isn't it?"

As Malcolm chattered on, Harry found his eyes once more drifting across the room to the plain woman trying to blend in to the far wall.

Across the room, Ruth nearly physically flinched as she felt the man's curious gaze come back to her. She wondered who he was. His insignia told her his rank and seniority and he was clearly someone important. One of her father's old friends, perhaps. Quietly Ruth wished that Zoe would hurry back from her latest dance. Ruth could see her through the open doorway into the ballroom, dancing with a young rich man who came across as rather a snob in Ruth's own opinion, but then as someone who had achieved the stately age of thirty seven without one respectable offer of marriage, she was hardly someone in a position to offer advice about future marriage prospects. In truth, if it wasn't for her father taking her into his confidence all these years and the constant friendship of her cousin Malcolm, she wasn't sure what she should do.

Of course, Malcolm himself had a few problems. Time was he'd considered marrying her himself, Ruth knew. There were questions asked about Malcolm's peculiar association with a series of young men, but as he'd settled down Ruth assured him that living with a male bachelor 'cousin' and having no wife at home was hardly a modern concept in Georgian Britain.

Ruth glanced back at the officer, a General if she was not mistaken, for only a moment. She hadn't meant for their eyes to meet. Hazel eyes. Deep sad pools that opened themselves to her as Ruth stared. She hadn't been prepared for the sadness in the depth of those eyes or the way his weary body straightened slightly or the sad smile he tilted at her with a nod of the head. Hastily she broke his gaze, fidgeted with her purse and prayed for Zoe to come back. It was with great relief that she notice the music stop a few minutes later and she took the opportunity to rush over and speak to her charge.

In spite of how much she wished that to be the end of her torment, when the dancing was finally broken for dinner, Miss Ruth Evershed unfortunately found herself and her charge seated in such a position as to afford a clear line of sight across three full tables to the officer she'd found staring earlier.

"That's Major General Sir Henry James Pearce," Zoe informed her chaperone, "He's looking at you again," Zoe teased Ruth.

"Don't be absurd," Ruth admonished her. "And eat your vegetables."

"You could do worse than a Major General, Ruth," Zoe continued.

"I thought you were the one looking for a husband," Ruth snapped.

"You're never too old," Zoe grinned. "I'm sure Cousin Malcolm would introduce us."

"Don't you dare!" Ruth ground out through gritted teeth.

Zoe allowed a few moments of silence to fall between them, just enough for Ruth's ire to settle, before continuing, "I heard he divorced his wife."

"Well I heard she divorced him and considering he's probably been off shagging his way across Europe for the last twenty years, I can hardly blame her."

"There's a war on," Zoe shrugged, "Everything's different in war."

"There was a war on," Ruth corrected. "Past tense. I expect we'll get a lot of bored officers passing through London soon enough," she said with an air of dismissiveness. Ruth would not get her hopes up. Fiercely she forced down any slim glimpse of optimism. She was thirty seven, nearly twenty years past the normal marriageable age and old enough to have her own children as debutantes had she married along with her peers. The prospect of male interest at this point was well on laughable. After several unsuccessful seasons as a wallflower, Ruth had resigned herself to helping her father with his work and his household until his unfortunate death last year. It was work she enjoyed, overseeing his paper, translating correspondence, learning to read between the lines of military missives. Not exactly the sort of work that tended to set one up as a good housewife. Her sewing skills were particularly poor and the fact that she could hold down a game of chess with the best of them and drink half the Admiralty under the table were hardly points in her favour. Few men if any truly wanted an intelligent wife, never mine one who could out-think them on military strategy.

Pointedly ignoring the sad eyes directed her way from across the room, Ruth smiled at Zoe, determined to help her charge present herself to her best. "Now, if I can actually get through this dinner without getting it all over my best clothes, I think we should go over your dance card for the second half of the evening..."

Zoe couldn't help but look up in the direction of General Pearce. She hadn't seen him in years before this, not since she was a child, but he looked older and sadder and more world-weary. War would do that to a man, she supposed. Yet the fact remained that he had hardly taken his eyes off Miss Evershed all evening and it was clearly making Miss Evershed nervous. Zoe narrowed her eyes. Her chaperone's attempts at deflection were obvious, but she gave into for the moment. If Zoe was right about the military man, there would be other moments to push them together.

After dinner, Ruth got her way. Zoe danced with a succession of dancers including the handsome black man she'd spotted with General Pearce earlier, a man Zoe found to be quite charming and intelligent and had a level of integrity she had not expected to find in High Society. Not like so many other young men, gambling and drinking away money left right and centre. At the end of the night Ruth and Zoe went away grinning and chatting all the way home, with plenty of things to talk about and the prospect of a full dance card for Zoe at the next ball the following night. Ruth had been amused to see the older gentleman who'd been staring at her suffer through numerous debutantes which seem to have been foisted upon him by various overly assertive mothers and aunts. None of the girls seemed to make a good match for the General, the blushing roses and arrogant young aristocratic daughters wanting more from him, clearly, than he was willing to give.

It was at the next ball the next night, however, that Ruth finally made the acquaintance of the man. Zoe, having danced with Lance-Corporal Hunter at the previous ball, began to move in his direction in the hope of filling a vacant spot on her dance card. However it was the older man by his side with his thinning blonde hair and sad hazel eyes that Ruth couldn't take her eyes off. She found, for the first time in a long time, her stomach was fluttering alarmingly. Ruth noted he was slightly in need of a haircut, for where it was getting long the strands were beginning to curl and she had the sudden vision of giggling toddlers with blonde curls and blue eyes. Her face felt warm and flushed and Ruth was sure it was more than the heat of the room that was causing it. Feeling the need to escape for a few moments, Ruth had just opened her mouth to announce she was going to get some air when cousin Malcolm accosted them both and announced he needed to introduce Ruth.

No amount of babbling or protesting, it seemed, was going to divert him.

"Malcolm, really!" Ruth protested. Zoe was already acquainted with Hunter from the previous evening. There was really no need for Zoe's chaperone to go making a fool of herself, Ruth insisted.

"I'm just going to introduce you," Malcolm assured her, urging her ever forwards in the direction of the man she now knew to be General Pearce. When Ruth turned to Zoe for assistance, it was clear there was going to be no help for her from that quarter and she knew now, having listened to gossip all evening, exactly what sort of reputation he carried. While it was a strange sort of novelty after so long alone, to catch the attention of a philandering good-for-nothing like Pearce, Ruth Evershed was not entirely sure it was an acquaintance that ought to be formally made at all. There really was too much chance of her turning into a babbling fool at the slightest glimmer of male attention and she was so unused to any sort of attention at all that Ruth had no idea whatsoever about how to deal with it. Worse, she feared she might fall for his charms and ruin herself. Desperately she tried to remember her mother's advice and only came up with questionable snippets of housewives tales. Beside her, Malcolm rushed forwards.

"Harry!" Malcolm grinned beside Ruth, rushing forward to greet the man he seemed to be such great friends with. "Major General Sir Harry Pearce, Lance-Corporal Hunter, may I introduce my cousin Miss Ruth Evershed and her charge Miss Zoe Reynolds."

"Miss Reynolds and I are already acquainted," Danny smiled, "In fact, I wondered if I might have the honour of this next dance?"

Zoe smiled back and with Ruth's approval, the two of them went off towards the end of the room where a space had been cleared for dancing.

Silence stretched between the three remaining adults. Malcolm cleared his throat. "Erm, Harry and I were in Spain together, for a while. I was Chaplain in his unit. A very competent officer, if I may say so and popular with the ladies," Malcolm winked at Ruth, who rolled her eyes at her cousin's lack of subtlety.

"I see you are on chaperone duties again tonight, Miss Evershed?" The General asked at length.

"Yes," Ruth replied shortly.

"You are not dancing yourself, then?" The General enquired.

"It would be somewhat unbecoming of a chaperone in present company, although I wonder at your being here instead of at the court, General. I understand the Palace is entertaining tonight."

"I am exactly where I want to be, Miss Evershed," General Pearce confided, his words soft and, dare she say it, somewhat seductive. "Malcolm mentioned your father was an officer?"

"Yes, he rose to the rank of Admiral."

Harry's eyebrows rose. From her dress and demeanour he would have guessed her family was not of considerable social status.

"You are surprised, General. I'm afraid it took him rather a long time to get there and his prizes were never what they might have been. After he died and the debts were paid off..." Ruth tailed off. "I live modestly but happily, General, and I can play as much chess and read as many of my father's books on old battles as I like without reprimand from any man."

Harry nodded, "Then you must surely understand enough strategy to comprehend me when I say, an old soldier must pick his battles carefully." He nodded his head towards the crowd of young prospective brides. "All's fair in Love and War, isn't that what they say?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean at all sir. Pray, excuse my ignorance."

"I mean, Miss Evershed, that it can hardly have escaped your ears, since it seems to be the talk of the town, that I granted my wife's request for a divorce. The Act of Parliament being lately passed, I am now free to enjoy bachelorhood as I please. The danger is, with my new situation and a peace being presently negotiated, that I might be encouraged towards some sort of ill-suited match for the purposes of political or social expediency."

Ruth raised he eyebrows. She had, of course, heard the rumours. It was surprising for him to discuss the matter so forthrightly, especially considering how short was their acquaintance.

"My honesty surprises you," Sir Harry surmised.

Ruth nodded. He eyes searched his face, wondering at his manner as her fingers fiddled once more with the strings of her purse. In the distance Zoe and Mister Hunter danced, gaining loud tuts of disapproval from a loud group of clucking women which the dancers steadfastly ignored. Ruth wondered idly where Cousin Malcolm had gone. Wasn't he here a moment ago?

"For what its worth, I'm not sure I'm much safer over here," Sir Harry confessed, gazing warily across the room. It was the very same group of assertive mothers and daughters that Harry was hoping to avoid throughout the duration of yet another evening. A more intolerable assignment could not have been put forth to him than the need to socialise endlessly. Yet it would hardly do for a man of his station to refuse such invitations. Even the Prince Regent's court could not be avoided forever.

Beside him, Ruth was confused as to why anyone would put themselves in a situation they found so intolerable. "Why come then, if you dislike it so much?"

Sir Harry shrugged, "Because I must, for the most part, considering my position. It would paint the Military in a very bad light if I never came out in society. On these last two occasions however, I have also come out for Lance-Corporal Hunter. I took him on as my steward when we were on campaign and he has served me well these last years, its the least I owe him to let him earn the rewards of the association. His father's a wealthy man but there are many who say he has no place here. It goes against everything in me to abandon him to his naysayers here. Besides which I find I sometimes bump into some colleagues from the Army or the Navy whose attention I might need on a small matter or whose opinion I might gather on important matters of State."

"Yes," Ruth agreed breathlessly. Quite when she had become breathless was anyone's guess, but the suffocating heat of the room didn't help. "Yes, I do understand. I recall my father on many occasions struggling to balance society and work. I confess even I find myself hiding from the baying mob in here sometimes."

"Well then," Sir Harry smiled, "Let us hide from them together. May I fetch you a drink?"

Sitting in the carriage on the way home, Danny Hunter and Sir Harry Pearce sat side by side, each smiling to themselves. Miss Reynolds had danced twice more with Danny and he confessed he found her amusing and charming. Sir Harry had enjoyed an evening standing in the corner not saying very much and fetching enough glasses of punch to turn Miss Evershed slightly tipsy, quite a feat Harry mused, considering she was the lone child of an Admiral of the Fleet. Clearly she had inherited both her father's sea legs and his capacity for drink.

"So, you hope to meet Miss Reynolds again at the next ball?" Harry queried his young friend. Already he had spent the last several days visiting coffee houses and meeting places around town and the evening entertainments were a good opportunity for Harry to catch up on the young man's work without arousing suspicion. Unfortunately it also gave Danny a reason to pick apart the myriad problems that such social occasions threw up. Daniel's father had, after all, asked Harry to take special care of his son and while there were many quarters where people showed open disgust at a black man being allowed to circulate among such high society, they also knew that the Lord Hunter, Danny's father, was not a man of whom anyone wanted to make an enemy.

Yet still, Danny sighed at Harry's question. "I know they only humour me on account of my father," Was his response. Unlike Harry, Danny did not wear his uniform to social events. On account of his race he was barred from becoming an officer, no matter how many strings Sir Harry or his father pulled, and he got along better with the tailoring of his clothes and the currency of his father's name alone. If Harry had been the type of man to feel sorry for people, he would have felt sorry for the young man beside him but at present Harry saw no great cause for concern. Hunter was a good and capable individual and could cope admirably by himself, Sir Harry felt.

"Yes. Yes they do, because your father is a powerful man and any woman in London would be fortunate to have him as a father-in-law. You may be illegitmate but you are favoured by your father or he would not have asked me to take you under my wing. You are intelligent and hard-working and you do not drink or gamble excessively like so many other young men. Therefore, what favours your father bestows upon you, and anyone with a head can see they are many, will be kept within the family and not lost upon the card table the next time you imbibe too much drink. Danny, there are many people, throughout all our lives, who would wish us ill. At least those who display such feelings openly are easy to avoid. Its the ones who hide it through charm and deceit, of whom one must be wary."

Danny considered Pearce's words. They were headed back to Pearce's rented rooms now and he wondered what the General would think if Danny were to formally ask to court Miss Reynolds. Danny had the feeling that the young woman would be agreeable. He enjoyed her company and her sense of humour, but surely Miss Reynolds family would be opposed to the match. With a heavy sigh he decided to think on it more before approaching the General for his advice and Danny hoped a good night's sleep might help clear his mind.

A few days passed. Days with walks and carriage rides in Hyde Park. Days sat in his office overlooking the Thames going over missives, communiques, intelligence briefings and the latest mail packets from the med some of which was written in Greek of all things and which he cast aside as indecipherable. The most important piece of news was that a group of marines on board a Royal Navy vessel had had it from a brothel house in Gibralter that there was a high profile French spy in London. Identity unknown. If the gossip was going round brothels however, it could hardly be long before it was all over Europe.

There was also a pile of papers in Arabic, of all things. Quite what the devil he was supposed to do with them, Sir Harry had no idea and to top it all he had yet another interminable ball to attend tonight and he wasn't sure if his knees could stand up to any more dancing. In spite of his best efforts he had been put in a position of being unable to refuse the approach of several young ladies at all the previous evenings and unless he asserted himself in a most ungentlemanly fashion by turning the lot of of them down, it was highly probably he would be forced to go through the paces again tonight. Yet so it was. While parliament was in session all the families and daughters of its Members were swanning around London with nothing to do but go to balls and parties every night and where there were parties there was gossip. Aside from the considerable social obligations of his station, if indeed there were high profile individuals whose loyalty to the Crown had been compromised, there was every reason Sir Harry might pick it up through the loose tongue of a family member. Besides, he reminded himself, he might get to witness another bout of Miss Evershed's verbal diarrhoea. A smile crept over his lips as he thought of her intelligent eyes and the way she played nervously with her purse strings every time he approached.

Six hours later however, it was a wince of pain and not a smile that adorned that General face when he sidled up to her at the latest ball.

"Save me!" He begged, a wince of pain from his knees crossing his features.

"General Pearce?" Miss Evershed looked up with alarm. What was he doing here. He'd been dancing all evening with young debutantes. What on earth did he want with her? He sounded like he might be in pain and Ruth looked up with alarm at the blond haired, hazel-eyed man who had just approached her. Her eyes searched his form for any sign of injury or trauma and then, finding nothing, searched the room at large for any sort of commotion or sign of upset. Finding nothing that could explain his distress she was forced to turn to the officer himself and found herself once more overwhelmed by the mere presence of the man. Ruth had noticed he had a habit of standing rather closer than she was comfortable with, as if he was bringing her into his confidence. He was just so very...male. His broad chest, his soft belly, his penetrating eyes, his breeches which were tailored so tight as to leave nothing to the imagination and the scent of him, so very masculine that she found it difficult to concentrate or even speak in complete sentences in his presence. Idly she wondered what it might be like to pillow her head on that chest, it looked so inviting. Her face turned red at the fact of his proximity after her mind had wandered so laciviously moments before but there was nothing she could do except pretend it was the heat of the room.

"I see I have alarmed you," Sir Harry commented.

"Are you unwell?"

"If only something as minor as a bout of ill health would deter the most determined of debutantes. If I have to dance with one more simpering seventeen year old girl I think I might do something I would very much regret."

"Marriage market getting to be too much for you?" Miss Evershed enquired. Where she found the gall to be so cheeky with a man of so short an acquaintance she had no idea, but the words were out of her mouth before she could catch herself.

"To be perfectly honest, Miss Evershed, I wasn't aware of consciously entering it and yet here I am, strugging to find a moment to rest my weary knees," And as if to prove his point, just as he uttered these last words a beautiful red-haired debutante glided in their direction clutching a dance card and putting on her prettiest smile. "No, Madam," Harry declined her dance card before the poor girl had the slightest chance of hovering hopefully around his person, "Pray excuse my bluntness but I must rest my knees. I'm sure my friend Mister Hunter would be more obliging were you to move in his direction."

The look Harry got for suggesting the debutante dance with Mister Hunter proved to Harry that his judgement was sound in refusing her. Miss Evershed however, seemed of a rather different opinion.

"Well that seems rather unkind," She commented immediately as soon as the girl was out of earshot.

"Was it?"

"You can't tar them all with the same brush," Ruth replied lightly, pointing with her fan to a gaggle of young women at the other end of the room, accompanied by their many chaperones.

It was at this point that Sir Harry leaned in. As if imparting a juicy secret he turned his lips towards her ear and spoke a warning under his breath, "They move in packs!"

It was all Ruth Evershed could do not to giggle at the genuine fear in his voice.

"You are in good company, General Pearce, if you find the social season a little trying but you must understand, they are only doing what they have always been taught to do: secure the best husband they possibly can. Most debutantes are told to look pretty and smile and show off their decoletage. That's the daughter of a Duke you so unceremoniously just turned down. You could have any woman in the room."

"You speak very forwardly, Miss Evershed."

"I..." Ruth immediately froze, realising she had done what she always did, spurred on by nerves at his continued proxmity she had begun babbling and in doing so had revealed much more forthrightly than their acquaintance allowed for. She unfurled her fan and nervously began fanning her face, now red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, General. If I have been inappropriate-"

"Oh, don't be sorry, I find it rather refreshing," Sir Harry mused and when she dared to glance up at his face his eyes were warm and twinkling with such mirth that she found herself caught in them for a moment. "You are right, of course. It is not only us Military men who are trained. You are telling me these young women are trained as well and, I think, that you disapprove of the general method of such training. May I surmise, therefore, that you offer rather different advice to my Goddaughter?"

"To...?"

"Miss Reynolds," Sir Harry clarified. "You are her chaperone, are you not? Perhaps instead of looking so obviously like I am avoiding more tortuous dances we might pretend we are discussing a common acquaintance, or matters of great import." His tone was warm, joking. A footman passed nearby with glasses of port and Sir Harry snagged two, handing her one.

"I couldn't possibly."

"Don't be absurd, you're an Admiral's daughter. If you've never had port I'm Napoleon himself. You can probably drink half my men under the table. I lost count of how many glasses of punch you had the other night and you were barely tipsy when you went home."

"Well, when drinking prowess becomes a highly sought-after marriage trait, General Pearce, I might finally find myself a husband. Until then, I shall have to rely on my wits and ingenuity to find my way through the world. What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing. You were going to tell me about my God-daughter," Harry prompted.

"I'm not sure there's much to tell. She's always been bright and I confess I've encouraged her. She is remarkably well read for someone so young. I've been convinced for some time now that Miss Reynolds would be ill suited to any man who is after a stupid wife and so," Ruth paused, considering her next words. "Yes," she agreed with him, "I do council her differently. I encourage her to engage intellectually in the hope that she might find herself a man of equal education and good humour."

At this, Harry nodded and sipped at his glass. He seemed thoughtful. Pensive. "I suppose," He said at length, "We all have our methods of testing the character of others. I tend to find one's reaction to my acquaintance with the young Mister Hunter a much more useful judge of character than I could possibly guess from one's station in life alone."

Ruth felt there wasn't much more to say after that and so silence fell between them. After a while General Pearce offered to go and get her another drink and returned with two glasses of punch and asked polite questions about Zoe's progress that season and some carefully worded questions about any of Miss Reynolds other potential suitors.

It was some time later when Private Hunter came to fetch Sir Harry and suggest it was time to go home. Only then did Ruth Evershed take note of the time and wonder where it had gone. Ruth found herself at something of a loss without his gentle good-humoured company. He was in many ways the most eligible bachelor in the room. He had wealth and status, he was a war hero, he was decorated and she had even heard a rumour about his prowess in the bedroom. What on earth he was doing idling away his hours standing quietly at her side was anyone's guess.

Some minutes later when Zoe returned from her next dance, Ruth and Zoe went together to the powder room while their carriage was called. While Ruth waited on Zoe another idling chaperone commented inquisitively about the Major General spending so long in her company. She could feel her heart pounding, the blush fill her face, all words fail her at utterly the worst moment as exactly what she had feared began to happen – rumours. It was, perversely, General Pearce's own words which sprang to the front of Ruth's mind in her desperate attempts to nip this in the bud.

"Well its only that Major General Pearce is Miss Reynolds Godfather," Ruth blurted, thanking the heavens that it was at least true. Better stick to the truth in such circumstances, "And he takes a great interest in her welfare." Ruth thought about pointing out that his interest would surely not have been quite so great if he hadn't been quite so determined to spare his knees another gavotte but it seemed rather unkind to the poor General's knees and his health really wasn't a matter she had any business discussing anyway. With the other chaperone's eyes still on her, Ruth excused herself as quickly as possible and decided to wait outside. From that point on, she determined, she was going to be sensible about this and not let her head be turned by some lonely old officer with a reputation for toying with women and if the Major General looked hurt and later angry by her refusal to spend any more time with him that evening, Miss Evershed reminded herself that it was, after all, probably only just as well that she had come to that conclusion.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The following morning dawned bright and early. The sky was blue with fluffy white clouds, around the town horses trotted pulling carriages and taxi's in their daily work and behind the black iron railing of the perimeter fence, dew decorated the short green grass of the park at the end of the road.

In spite of the late night the evening before, Ruth rose rather early just as her maid was finishing lighting the fires. Then her maid, Beth, dressed her and went off to prepare breakfast while Ruth sat down to some unfinished correspondence. After breakfast Ruth went into the front room, fully prepared to spend a good while curled up with a book.

It was the sort of thing one could do when one lived on one's own.

While it was true that Miss Evershed was happy to accompany the young Miss Reynolds to social engagements, she had never lived with the Reynolds family and preferred to stay at the London home she had once shared with her father. His study on the first floor landing lay almost untouched in the months since he'd died. She had, somehow, become an old spinster. Twenty years had passed since most of her peers had married and one by one she had lost touch with them all, preferring the company and the intellectual challenge of assisting her father in his duties as an Admiral of the Fleet. Not that she really minded her situation. As a girl she had harboured dreams of falling in love with a charming young man and leading some sort of vaguely idyllic life but fate, it seemed, had other plans. Her father had seen to scaring off the drinkers and gamblers and as for the rest, there had been no one to sweep her off her feet, no one to make her fall in love with them and somehow twenty years after coming out, here she was. Living alone in her childhood home with an adopted cat called Fidget. Financially speaking she had enough from her father's estate for the time being but when the money ran out she would have to find some new source of income. She was fairly sure she could find work as a governess, although it sounded both boring and time consuming. Or she could take in lodgers perhaps, although the idea of taking strange men into the house that had once been her father's ran against the grain as well as being somewhat alarming as regards her own personal safety.

The truth was, she liked the quiet. Right now it was just her and the cat as she sat in the front room brushing up on her Arabic while her single remaining maid worked away in the kitchen at the back of the house. With no visitors expected, it was a great shock when the bell rang at the door as soon as the acceptable hour for visitors arrived.

Ruth waited as Beth hurried through from the kitchen to the front door. She listened to the familiar sound of the maid opening the door, the shuffling of footsteps as someone entered the house. A man's voice rumbled through from the front hall and then the door to the front room opened. Ruth rose from her chair as Beth entered to announce...

"Major General Sir Henry James Pearce, Ma'am."

Ruth's eyebrows shot up. Hundreds of conflicting thoughts flashed through her head. Her brows drew together as she wondered why on Earth he'd be calling here. She cursed herself for wearing the plainest dark grey dress she owned and was just in the process of checking for crumbs and tea stains on her attire when a gentle clearing of the throat grabbed her attention and she looked up sharply to find him already hovering just inside the doorway of the front room.

"General Pearce! What a surprise it is to see you here. Are you well?"

"Very well, Miss Evershed." Sir Harry spoke softly. "I hope I am not intruding?"

"Not at all."

"I am disturbing your solitude," Sir Harry countered.

"I have lived alone since my father died. Apart from Beth and Fidget." Upon seeing the look of curiosity upon the man's features she clarified, "The maid and the cat."

"Ah."

Ruth watched as he began to take in the modest but well-appointed room. A few keepsakes of her father's life at sea adorning the mantlepiece. He paced, putting his back to her as Beth hovered for the sake of decency until Ruth ordered a pot of tea and they were left alone. Sir Harry wandered over to the mantle, turning his back slightly on her which confused her somewhat. The warmth of his eyes a moment before didn't match with the cold stiffness of his body language now. "I imagine you must have come with some enquiry about Miss Reynolds, General Pearce. I'm afraid she doesn't live here if you came for a visit but I'm sure she won't mind if I pass on the particulars of her Guardian."

"No, I didn't come here about Miss Reynolds," Sir Harry turned and looked at her over his shoulder and as he did, something of his stiff manner of bearing seemed to ease somewhat just by looking at her. He sighed quietly and as their gazes met his eyes seemed to deepen. Ruth could tell he was thinking something, but quite what he was thinking was entirely lost on her. She felt terribly self conscious under the General's stare as his eyes drifted over her form until she felt his gaze settle further down her person and Ruth realised he was looking at the book she still clutched in her hand.

"You read Arabic?" Harry asked with surprise.

"Yes," Ruth replied simply. She sensed that a man of Sir Harry's reputation didn't come here to talk about the reading material of an old spinster. The subject of his visit was a complete mystery to her and she was infinitely curious as to what he could possibly want with her time. Yet he accepted her simple reply with a nod and seemed to take a moment to keenly observe one of her father's instruments on the mantle.

Leaving him to his thoughts, Ruth wandered over to the chess board that had lain untouched since her father's passing. She had enjoyed playing so much, once upon a time, even if it was not considered entirely becoming of females to play the game. Neither was it considered becoming of females to do a man's job and yet she had handled most of her father's correspondence once his eyes got too bad to read and write very well.

"Checkmate in three," Sir Harry observed.

"Yes."

"Your father's?" He asked.

Ruth looked up. His eyes were deep, mellow pools of emotion but there was passion underneath. Something fierce held back that almost scared her and she wondered, for the first time, what sort of man he was in private. Away from the grousing grumpy old sod he was in public at balls and ceremonies.

"Who were you playing?" Sir Harry asked.

Ruth gasped, "Oh, I wasn't..."

"Of course you were. Its your home, why shouldn't you play?"

She paused, considering his words. Wondering what he would think of her if she owned up to the truth.

"I used to play with my father. He said it kept his mind sharp."

Sir Harry nodded at this, an assertion that, at face value, said he found this an acceptable explanation. Ruth only hoped that he did accept it. For some reason, she couldn't stand the thought of him looking down on her for her peculiar ways, especially with her connection to Zoe. General Pearce was clearly at once distant and yet fiercely protective of his Goddaughter. Ruth had been alone for some months now and with only her father for company before that, she had all but forgotten the proprieties of being a female in company.

"He died," Ruth explained, "Before we could finish."

The General seemed very lost in his own thoughts. When he spoke it was with a sort of quiet carefulness that Ruth found quite surprising. "You read how many languages, Miss Evershed?"

"Nine, or so. Arabic, French, German, Italian, Russian, Spanish, Greek, Latin and English."

"Is that all?" The General smiled.

Ruth supposed the remark was supposed to be teasing. In truth she felt so nervous and out of sorts in his presence it was difficult to respond to anything he said with any clarity of mind at all.

"You speak nine languages, you play chess, you are educated in matters military, you can drink most men under the table and you have a comfortable living. Yet you are unmarried."

"Oh, I don't think I'd make a good wife," Ruth replied, "I'm a terrible cook. I can't sew to save myself, I was never a good dancer, I'm not pretty..."

"There are other forms of beauty, Miss Evershed, than the conformation of one's facial features. Which, might I add, I personally find quite pleasing."

"Well, Sir, I thank you for the compliment but I'm sure its not why you came here."

The General half turned away and stared off into the distance once more. "Actually it is, in a manner of speaking. I came here to make a proposal."

"What sort of proposal?"

"What sort of proposal? A marriage proposal, Miss Evershed."

"To who?" Confusion ruled Ruth's face.

"Well I wasn't intending to propose to the maid or the cat."

Ruth started sniggering. She couldn't help it, it was too ridiculous. She wondered who had put him up to it. It was, after all, a good joke, "Did Cousin Malcolm put you up to this? Well you can tell him its a good joke and I appreciate his attempts to lighten my morning but I'd rather spend my time learning German grammar if its all the same to him."

Sir Harry had to admit, he had not anticipated this reaction. This joking, this laughing at him. He was a serious man who had worked in a serious profession all his life. He was not accustomed to being made fun of. "You're laughing at me," He said simply, the hurt seeping through in his voice. "I come here to make a very serious proposal and you're-"

Ruth attempted to get some control over herself. She bit her lip and stifled her sniggers. A marriage proposal! From General Pearce! No, it was too funny. "You must excuse me, General. I haven't had a serious proposal in twenty years, apart from a few fortune hunters of course, not that there's much left apart from the house these days, but you don't strike me as a man short of a guinea or two."

"Twenty years? Don't be absurd."

"Indeed. I wasn't even in this country. When I was very young, just after my mother died, I accompanied my father on a voyage in the Mediterranean where I was proposed to by a Doctor, a Greek from the island of Cyprus in the Ottoman empire. I was so enamoured of the romance of his situation I very nearly said yes."

"Cyprus? In the heart of the Ottoman empire? Next you'll be telling me he took you to see the Battle of they Pyramids. Have you shaken Napoleon's hand too, I wonder? Or was your father aware of French Revolution at all that he would take a young girl to sea in the most dangerous part of the world?"

"I have been to many dangerous places in my time, General Pearce and yet I am still here and my father is not so if you are attempting to make some sort of point, let me suggest to you it may be a moot one," Ruth finished curtly.

"Touche," Harry smiled, a smile that turned nervous as soon as his eyes settled too long and soon he broke eye contact altogether, turning away to pace to the window. "So?"

"So?" Ruth echoed.

"So I wondered if you might give me an answer."

"An answer to what?"

"My proposal."

"Actually, you haven't yet made a proposal."

"Yes I did."

"No, you said you were going to make a proposal and then you decided to pick a fight with a dead man. If you want to ask me a question, General, I suggest you just ask it."

The General sighed heavily. "I don't suppose there's the slightest chance of you answering in the affirmative?"

Ruth smiled slightly, an attempt at a smile anyway that could not quite be called a true smile for the sadness that held it back. "It strikes me as extremely unlikely, General Pearce."

"Well then," The General cleared his throat. "At least you can say you have saved me from a particular bout of foolishness."

He finished these last words with an emphasis that spoke of an underlying ire. Ruth Evershed thought it best not to linger on that thought.

"General Pearce...Sir Harry...you must understand. I am not the sort of woman that men like you want to marry. I am not a womanly woman, I am an old spinster, I play chaperone to other people's daughters, I have read more books on military strategy than I have on housekeeping and I love a good game of chess more than I'll ever love sewing or playing the good wife. I am quite assured, sir, that I am not the sort of wife you want."

"You know me so well, do you, that you are so assured of my mind...and you are no doubt also alarmed by my reputation," Sir Harry sighed. He could hardly deny that his private life was the subject of common gossip that must have alighted upon the ears, even of someone as reticent, as Miss Evershed.

"I am quite aware of your military reputation, General," Ruth replied, "Ruthless in battle, an officer who looks out for his own, a troubled personal life. I confess the more time you spend with me at balls, the more fellow chaperones warn me off you having any influence on Zoe. They tell me of your reputation as a difficult man. A philanderer. A man with a fierce temper, Sir. A man who makes enemies. I confess I find your company pleasant, but then one cannot judge a man's temper on the basis of his willingness to fetch an old spinster a glass of punch, nor on his connection to an admirable God-daughter. You asked, now I give you my answer and I bid you good day." Ruth Evershed stood up then, an abrupt indication if there ever was one that this meeting was now over.

"Very well, Miss Evershed," He acknowledged. He had his answer, for now, and he had to respect it. It was not, however, an answer that left him fully without hope. Miss Evershed's company was quite unlike the company of any woman who had gone before her. Being in her presence, moreover, had left him with a rather embarrassing situation he had been forced to hide by turning to the mantle until he had calmed down, lest he give her a fright by the sight of the reaction of his body. More than once he had touched himself at night and thought of her. Her pink lips, her blue eyes, the cutting sense of humour and the fierce protectiveness that underlay her shy, cautious exterior. Admittedly making a proposal so soon had been an impulsive and perhaps unwise move but Harry alone knew quite how full to brimming London would soon be with young officers wanting to marry. The thought of Miss Evershed preferring some other man who might arrive on the scene at any moment was difficult to contemplate and yet, with every moment in her presence he found himself fighting the pace of his heartbeat, the sweat of his palms, the way he felt physically drawn to be near her. There was time enough, plenty of time, after marriage to get to know someone but Miss Evershed had stated her position and he supposed he had to respect her for knowing her own mind. His one comfort, though it was small comfort, was that she would be just as careful should any other man make overtures towards her.

Harry couldn't face going home. Couldn't face going home to his empty rented rooms. He would need to consider purchasing a property now that the war was over. He had granted his wife their previous home in order that she might raise their children there. He hoped over time that his son and daughter may come to accept their parents separation but Harry knew in reality he had been gone from their lives a long time. Twenty five years this war had been running. Guillotines, blockades, epic battles. Hundreds of thousands of lives lost. Millions perhaps. No was seemed to be entirely sure. One thing was for certain, having lost so much in so short a time as a result of his defeat Bonepart was a desperate man who would stop at nothing to escape Elba at any cost. Even now, well placed individuals within London could well be spying for him in the hope of aiding his cause. Considering courting any woman in such a climate was a dangerous game. Miss Evershed was probably wise in refusing him. If Sir Harry's role in rooting out French spies here at home became known, any woman in whom he expressed interest would likely be placed in great danger. Yet the practicalities of the situation couldn't soothe his aching heart and not for the first time in his life, he sought out solitude and strong spirits.

His office beckoned.

His office with its oak pannelling and the walls of charts and battle plans, pictures of Bonaparte and all his key officers, endless pages of correspondence from his ever increasing network of spies here in London and elsewhere. Sir Harry had known, of course, that some French duplicity was to be expected. The level of intrigue he was experiencing however was giving him a headache. Had he known quite how many factions there were within the French in London he would likely have refused his orders at the outset. It was all very well being told to search London for foreign spies, it all sounded very admirable, but that was before you realised quite how many opinions the French community in London managed to carry. That was without looking at the issue of persons belonging to England or the Empire who might have been persuaded to turn traitor against their king and country. Eliciting those who were a danger to the crown and those who were simply blowing hot air with an inflated sense of their own importance, was proving to be quite some task.

Sir Harry sat down at his desk, grunting a greeting to his fellow officers as they passed his office. Eventually after several restless minutes he settled upon closing the door, poured himself a large tumbler of whiskey and examined the chess board set up in one corner of the room. Sentiment encouraged him to rearrange the pieces just so, to mirror the setup on the board in Miss Evershed's drawing room and stare at it long enough to work out that Miss Evershed must be quite the player. To one side sat a growing pile of documents and letters that he had set aside for future attention. The idea of sending important information in a scholarly language was doubtless brilliant at preventing unwanted eyes from comprehending the document. Unfortunately, however, it also prevented Sir Harry for doing his job and he got the feeling that the matter was becoming imperative. The topmost letter had arrived that very morning while he was making an impulsive call on Miss Evershed and was marked 'urgent'.

Quite what had possessed him to do what he did, General Pearce could not say. He wasn't looking to marry again. Had thought perhaps he never would. Sir Harry was not interested, as some other men were, in marrying some pretty young stripling that could bear him a dozen children. He had progeny, he had family, what he lacked was the comfort and companionship of another human being and he hadn't realised quite how much he had missed it or quite how much he had come to rely on Miss Evershed's presence for exactly those reasons in so short a time until she had spurned him at the ball the previous night. Quite what he had done to merit her cold shoulder he neither knew nor cared. After a long night's drinking all that seemed to matter was that she was in his life in as permanent a way as possible and he had somehow convinced himself that as a single woman of thirty-seven she would jump at the chance of marriage in spite of his rational mind having witnessed so much evidence to the contrary.

It had been hasty and foolish and he had gone too far too soon. From the concerns she had expressed General Pearce realised that in spite of having spent much time in society together, she did not know him well enough to form her own opinion of him as yet. She was a single woman of property and intellect, a status few women could aspire to and she would require more inducement to marriage than the desperation of a female in need of a roof over her head. He yearened for her company. Yearned for her presence. Yearned for quiet cups of tea and being allowed to touch and seeing her smile at him. He wanted to wallow. Drink whiskey and wallow in his thoughts of her. Unfortunately there was work that would not wait. Lance-Corporal Hunter was due in half an hour to update him about his visits to the coffee houses and the Prince Regent had asked him to write up a summation of the current state of affairs which he would have to deliver personally to the Palace that evening.

Tomorrow morning would spare him no time either. There was a meeting of senior military officers in the morning and then a luncheon with the Prime Minister who wished to discuss something to do with the United States of America. The USA had maintained a neutral stance in the war. Now the war was over, it was understandable there would need to be some clarification of Britain's relationship with their former colony across the Atlantic and there was still the ongoing disquiet from the United States about the attacks by British privateers on neutral ships.

By the afternoon he would be ready for some time alone but there was due to be at an afternoon tea party tomorrow after his various engagements were over and honestly, were it not held by an officer he respected quite so highly, Sir Harry was sure he would not go. As it was, he could hardly stand up Colonel Adam Carter.

Naturally she was there, invited as Carter had somehow contrived to be an old friend of Ruth's father although the connection escaped Sir Harry. There they were standing in a corner of the morning room, casually chatting away in street Arabic with the host who it turned out had once been stationed in Egypt and picked up the local language there. He stood across the room, watching her for some time before Carter looked up and noticed his presence.

"By the devil himself if it isn't Harry Pearce! General."

"Colonel Carter!" Sir Harry smiled warmly and welcomed the bear hug when Carter threw his arms around the older man, patting him on the back and grasping his face in glee at seeing his old friend once again. "You look well."

"I feel well, General. Retirement suits me. I have married since we saw each other last and started a family. I find it suits me very well, even if I do miss the rush of battle from time to time."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sir Harry took a moment to examine the form of Miss Evershed. Having embarrassed himself in front of her only yesterday morning, he was nervous about approaching her once again. The uncomfortable way his heart fluttered didn't exactly help matters. He was much too old for this nonsense. He had married before, a good practical match with a woman of suitable station and breeding who turned out to be the devil incarnate and a philandering whore. Not that he was one to talk. At least the children looked like Pearce's and if they turned out to be his brothers instead of his, well Ben was dead now and that was that. He had hardly been the model husband himself. As it was, he was beginning to understand why Miss Evershed's father had coveted his daughter so much. Her beauty, her intelligence were nothing to her integrity and honesty. She was, quite simply, the sort of woman who got under one's skin.

Hearing that language spoken aloud, the necessity of accurate translation of confidential documents had never been quite so high in his mind as they had been since taking up his present position and the Prince Regent's consternation at his perceived ineptitude still rang in his ears. At least, Sir Harry acknowledged, his French and Spanish were passable but the documents coded in Greek and Latin and even Arabic were completely beyond him, not to mention those passed along from allies whose own dialects of such languages were sometimes completely indecipherable from the form he had learned through his own education so many decades before. Somewhere or another he was going to have to find some help and he concluded to begin asking around the junior officers the next time he was in work. It was entirely conceivable one or two of them had had a decent classical education. On the other hand, even if he found someone suitable, would they be someone he could trust?

As these thoughts were passing through Sir Harry's head, his gaze had settled on the beautifully demure pale green gown of Miss Ruth and was drawn back to the present by something Carter said. General Pearce smiled and nodded which seemed to be the appropriate response although exactly what Carter's comment had been, the General could not say. Carter took the job as host seriously enough to show Sir Harry about the room, coming to Miss Evershed towards the end who, it turned out, had met Carter with her father on Admiral Evershed's endless travels. Yet no sooner had Adam Carter introduced them than he was made aware by a footman that Mrs Carter required her husband's presence and the man excused himself. Sir Harry assured their host that Miss Evershed and he would be perfectly capable of looking after each other. The look of alarm on Miss Evershed's face had Adam Carter chuckling as he left with a brotherly touch of the hand. "He's a teddy bear," Adam told Ruth as he abandoned them in favour of his wife across the room. Obviously completely misundrestanding the situation between them. Harry for one felt guilty at the concern she seemed to feel at being abandoned to his presence and endeavoured to build bridges and smooth things over between them.

"Do not make yourself uneasy, Miss Evershed. I am at your service."

"I-I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?" Ruth had spent all the rest of the previous day and half the night thinking of nothing but General Sir Harry Pearce. His eyes. His warm skin. The way his hair curled at the back. The reticence when he had tried to propose without proposing. To her. Sir Harry had asked for her hand and she had refused him so abruptly and with so little explanation that the cringed to think of it. How could she even look at him now?

"Good. I would not wish there to be any awkwardness between us after our previous conversation. I respect you too much to ever wish you discomfort. I pray you would not hold my foolishness against me."

Ruth looked up at him as he stopped, meeting his eye and waiting for him to continue until she realised that he was waiting for some sort of response. "Of course not, General," Was all she managed to find to say but it seemed to satisfy him for he nodded ponderously before moving.

"As it happens I have an enquiry to make on a completely unrelated matter. Your conversation with Colonel Carter this evening has put a thought in my mind regarding your skills as a linguist."

Ruth examined his face, "Really, General, I'm not sure 'skills' is the word you're after."

"You have rather an unfortunate habit, Miss Evershed, of underselling yourself. It is not becoming of you," Sir Harry informed her sternly. Ruth was too shocked at his berating her to say anything and so he continued on regardless, "And whilst I realise that after my previous overtures this request may seem rather inappropriate, I find myself in need of your assistance. With the utmost haste I must secure the services of a linguist to assist me in matters of confidential correspondence, much of which relates to the security of the Realm." It was not, Sir Harry told himself, merely a convenient excuse to spend more time in her company. After all, she had made her position quite clear. If, however, spending more time in Miss Evershed's company was a by-product of his need for translation then General Pearce supposed he would just have to bear the anticipation of their continued relationship.

"You have officers for that," Ruth insisted.

General Pearce's eyebrows rose. "As your father did?"

"Colonel Carter speaks Arabic," Miss Evershed pointed out.

"Colonel Carter is a man of action, not of words. He speaks Arabic as a Cairo marketboy would, Miss Evershed. I know because like him I picked up a smattering of phrases wherever I was stationed but, like me, he cannot read or write the language and has no formal education on the subject. At least, none that stuck. I am presently dealing with the very real prospect of foreign agents operating right here in London and I cannot read half my correspondence. Peace has put a lot of men out of work whose purses are swiftly running empty. Espionage may be distasteful but it pays and when you have no food or money..."

"General Pearce, if you would excuse my boldness, this all sounds very alarming. Is the war not over? Napoleon is in prison, is he not?"

"And sitting quietly practicing his pianoforte, do you imagine? In pace ut sapiens aptarit idonea bello," Sir Harry pronounced.

"That's rather pessimistic," Ruth frowned.

"I prefer to call it realistic. I do not want to be caught unprepared should the worst happen. Any man who can marshall enough men to invade Russia is not to be trifled with, even in exile. In order to execute my orders effectively I must be able to correspond with members of the Military and Government in allied countries. Unfortunately, given the nature of the task I hesitate to use those methods typically employed by the British Army."

"By methods I presume you mean people? You don't trust your own?"

"I have served too long and in too many wars to always presume I know who my friends are," Sir Harry replied solemnly. "Besides which many of my sources are off-book and unofficial. It would not do to spook them by risking their identities becoming known through careless word of mouth."

Ruth sighed slightly and allowed her eyes to dart around the room. They were getting looks again from so long standing together and General Pearce was doing that thing where he hovered too close and made her nervous and that made other people stare. "I'll consider it," She decided. "I'm making no promises."

As a result of there being no young lady to chaperone that night and having received the invitation on her own merits, Miss Evershed stayed inside just long enough to be polite and then excused herself to go out to the gardens for some air, asserting that she had rather overexerted herself lately on account of the number of balls and other events she had been obliged to attend for Zoe. In reality, she needed some distance from Sir Harry. His request this evening had been a business proposition, she understood that, but after the manner and tenor of their conversation not two days before, Miss Evershed found she needed a little space and the forced overtures at polite conversation were taxing even for her.

Meanwhile not far away General Pearce was surveying the room over a glass of strong wine. While Miss Evershed and Mrs Carter were merely polite and cordial to each other, it appeared that Adam Carter treated Miss Evershed like a long lost brother, talking fondly of some escapade with her father in previous years. They walked towards the French doors, the air still unseasonably warm and balmy for the time of year and there was just enough light left in the sky for half an hour in pleasant solitude before dinner.

To his astonishment, once she was alone she soon slipped away outside all by herself. Harry watched her disappear and found himself leaving the company of some young officer who had sidled up to him, to walk in the direction of the window, from which place Sir Harry could purview Miss Evershed's path down through the rosebeds, under the climbing rose trailed over an archway and down into the bottom patch of garden where Harry knew there to be a maze of a dozen little rooms hidden by hedgerows and woven willow and tall shrubbery. A vegetable patch here, a lawn there, a fountain in the middle and at the very bottom a pretty sort of swing seat that only looked just right with a maiden in a pretty dress swinging gently in amongst the daisys and dandilions. Nearby wild flowers nestled underneath the great oak that seemed to have found itself in the midst of the grand old hedgerow that separated the Carter's grounds from the lane beyond their home. A hedgerow of hawthorn, crab apple and delicate wild roses lined with cow parsley and red campion flowers. Weeds of course, to some, but after so many years abroad nothing pleased Harry more upon arriving home than the sight of an old English hedgerow.

Ignoring the music, ignoring the chatter, ignoring the party going on around him, Sir Harry Pearce felt himself drawn to her. Felt himself move across the room as if in a dream, single mindedly focused on the figure disappearing like a ghost into the garden beyond he followed her out through the French doors and down the path through the roses. As he reached the archway he caught a glimpse of her pale green dress disappearing around the corner of an evergreen hedgerow and followed what he thought to be the correct path only to find himself alone, by a fountain, with four paths leading out.

Eventually he found her exactly where thought she would be. The quiet place, the tranquil place at the bottom. A pond had sprung up since he was here last and a small collection of bright blue dragonflies danced in the air above the lillies.

Miss Evershed sat on the swing seat, staring out into space. He watched her, for a while. Warded off some young cad who had come to investigate the presence of a lone woman, heard a giggling drunk couple head towards some other corner of the garden but Miss Evershed's thoughts clearly had her a thousand miles away and not until she came back to the present of her own accord did she notice the person lurking some distance off.

"General?"

"Miss Evershed. I have disturbed your solitude once more," Sir Harry apologised and then after a pause explained, "I was concerned for your welfare."

Miss Evershed said nothing for a while as she considered her response and Harry waited. What was he to expect? Hostility, for his continued pursuit? Gratitude for watching over her in what was really quite an unsafe location for a woman to be alone. Even though Carter clearly believed his own house to be safe, Sir Harry knew what happened when there was plenty to to drink and young men got too unruly because he had once been a young man himself and in his latter years he had spent half his time in Spain trying to keep the men under control at the orders of Wellington.

Sitting on the swing seat, Ruth found herself at something of a loss. She had managed to get a few moments to steal away and find a quiet spot to enjoy a few moments calm and had finally been able to get some much needed time alone to consider everything that had happened of late. Zoe was all but courting a man, the son of an important and wealthy noble who enjoyed his father's favour, yet the man was of questionable legitimacy and the son of a slave. It wasn't that Ruth minded such things, but others would talk. If Zoe pursued this path, she would have to bear her whole life the way society treated her husband on account of his birth and the colour of his skin. What sort of life was that, for a bright young woman such as Zoe? Should she approve the match and wish Zoe happiness in spite of the challenges? And then there was her own life. Her own prospects. How long could she continue to stay in her father's house without the source of income that his employment had brought the household prior to his death? Looking for a position was an option, as was taking in boarders, or taking on other work as some spinsters did. There was always plenty of little jobs, craftwork and sewing and industrial things that women could do at home to bring in extra money but Ruth was mostly frustrated that the more intellectual pursuits to which she was most suited were closed off to her on account of her sex.

Or, she could find herself a husband.

Ruth felt his presence before she looked up, something about his manner told her it was him and looking up to find the sharp lines of a new uniform decorating his broad chest only confirmed her suspicions. She was surprised to note he looked hesitant, before approaching with gentle treads.

"Miss Evershed."

"General Pearce."

"May I...enquire after your health?"

"I am quite well, General Pearce."

"Miss Evershed, I owe you an apology," He stated firmly. Something about the manner in which he said it suggested to Ruth that he had come to this conclusion some time ago and was only stating his position now that the situation to make such an overture had presented itself. "The manner of my offer was unforgiveably presumptious."

"In what respect?"

"In so far as I presumed if I asked you would say yes."

"Because I have no other offers, because of my age, because of my solitude, perhaps?"

"All of those things and mostly because I fear you think I want marriage for reasons other than the reasons I chose to ask for your hand."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."

General Pearce seemed to pause then. The shifted his feet nervously and took in a breath as if about to speak before changing his mind. He stood up and sat down just long enough to adjust the way he sat and pulled at the lapels of his jacket as if it wasn't sitting quite right. Finally he took in another breath and seemed to resolve whatever internal dilemma he was going through in his head.

"Well, to come straight to the point, Miss Evershed, you probably think I'm a randy old goat. The news of my divorce is all over town and by involving you I have mad you the subject of gossip. As I'm sure you will be well aware by now, I was not particularly faithful to my first wife and in general the private lives of officers, in times of war, are really not all that private at all. You are perhaps concerned that I mean to marry for questionable reasons and if you said yes you would be marrying a man who would take more interest in bored wives with wandering eyes than in performing my duties as a husband to my own wife. The reality, Miss Evershed, could not be further from the truth. Yet I find I am not much good, you see, at expressing myself candidly in your presence. When I'm not with you I can think of little else but finding some sort of way to be in your presence again and yet after my behaviour that morning, I cannot blame you for not wanting my company this evening. I should never have presumed to ask for your hand after so short an acquaintance."

"Then why did you ask me?"

"I believe the phrase that my Second-in-Command would use is 'emotionally compromised'. I am... emotionally compromised, in your regard."

Ruth turned to stare at him and found him averting his gaze, staring at his feet and then off into the distance but avoiding her eyes entirely.

"I find myself quite moved by your intelligence, Miss Evershed," Harry confessed quietly. "By your eyes. By...your very being."

"...But...General Pearce..."

"Harry. You may call me Harry, if you would like?"

"Regardless of what I call you, sir, you cannot possibly be serious in your regard."

"Pray, tell me why not, Miss Evershed?"

"Well for starters its twenty years since my debut, I'm an old spinster now. I'm plain, I have no title or significant dowry and the things my father did leave to me I have little intention of ever letting another man liquidate for his own pleasure."

"Then you would retain full financial control of all your father's property."

"Legally, an impossibility."

"In all but name. I would abide by your wishes on the matter," Harry replied, his eyes sad and serious. There was emotion there, Ruth assessed. Emotion he had tried and failed to hide and now he just looked lost and a little scared, which was a disconcerting sort of antithesis to the usual presentation of the man. The General had a way, an air, of carrying power that made Ruth more than slightly nervous. She decided, quite quickly, that she would never wish to be on the receiving end of such a temper.

"Please marry me," Harry whispered. Begged.

"What?"

"Would you do me the honour-"

Ruth stared hard, jaw hanging open. "You can't be serious. Not again."

"I'm perfectly serious, Miss Evershed."

"Sir Harry...General Pearce..." Ruth began, wondering how to, once more, let him down gently.

A few yards distant, Harry Pearce turned away, already knowing the answer from the tone of her voice.

"Miss Evershed," Harry insisted firmly, a hint of passion now entering his voice. "While you seem to consider the interest of any man in your person to be some sort of joke, I assure you I am perfectly serious. I should like the honour of your hand in marriage."

"Well then you must excuse me but no, I cannot marry you."

"I had thought, Miss Evershed, that you were taking pleasure from our friendship, our companionship. Am I completely mistaken?"

"No, no of course not. General, you can hardly declare yourself after so short an acquaintence and expect a woman who has so long been on her own to have not one reservation about a man such as yourself, however well intentioned your proposal," Ruth blushed. It wasn't like her to be so forthright but having endured a second declaration she saw no point being anything other than honest.

"May I enquire as to your concerns," Sir Harry asked quietly.

"Do you drink?"

"Yes."

"Too much?"

Harry hesitated. "Probably," He muttered at length.

"Are you violent?"

Harry couldn't meet her eye, "I have been known to be."

"You were unfaithful to your first wife?"

"Yes," Sir Harry replied and he gave out a great sigh of resignation. A sorry, heart-felt, heavy sigh of great loss.

Ruth stood up and walked towards him. There was no reason to turn the screw any further. She knew from his demeanour that Sir Harry understood the point. His eyes were deep pools of sorrow that gazed at her with unspeakable heartbreak. "I shan't ask again," He told her.

In a placating gesture for the pain that Ruth knew she was causing him, she reached out and touched a hand to his arm. He stood still, her touch burning him even through the layers of his coat and shirt. She was sure that the heartache was real enough now but Ruth convinced herself he would get over it soon enough. Men like Sir Harry Pearce always did. There would be some new widow, some young debutante on his arm at the next ball no doubt and the days spent lurking in the corner with an old maid like her would soon be over. It was a nice thought, that a man of the General's standing could ever be interested in her, but Ruth was convinced they were not well suited. She valued her independence too much. Yet the way he looked at her, every bone in his body exuding defeat at the conclusion of their unexpected assignation, she could not help but take pity on him. However fleeting his affections, Ruth realised then and there that they were honestly felt and taking pity on him, she reached up and untied a simple white ribbon from her hair. Sir Harry glanced up at her sharply when Ruth pressed it into his hand.

"A memento, Sir Harry."

"You called me Harry," He whispered, quite moved it seemed by the gesture. She watched him but he dared not look up at her. His very heart ached with her repeated refusal. As reasonable and logical as it was Sir Harry was quite sure he would never meet another woman quite like her. Quite sure, at least at the moment, that a small corner of his heart would forever yearn for her.

"Just this once," Ruth smiled. Really, she imagined he could be quite a charmer if he put his mind to it. No wonder he had a reputation for women falling at his feet. Were it not for his own admittance to his quite serious faults, drinking and philandering and a quite infamous temper, Ruth Evershed was sure that she would be almost tempted by his offer of marriage. As it was, she would still allow herself to think of him fondly for giving a woman of her age one last little romantic titillation before she entered her middle years of spinsterhood.

General Pearce's eyes never left her, Ruth felt them burning into her back as she curtseyed and then left him, standing in the quiet corner at the foot of the garden in amongst the flowers and the hedgerows. Staring forlornly at the thorn of the rose and listening to the blackbird that was warbling nearby. Pausing briefly she turned back to take him in one last time. His handsome features, his warm eyes, the resigned sigh as he pressed her ribbon to his cheek and Ruth was sure, as she watched in the half-light, that she saw his shoulders shake with a sob at which point the notion that she was grossly invading his privacy flashed to the forefront of her mind and she resolved to leave him in peace and return to the house.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that this chapter requires a trigger warning for sexual assault.

Chapter 3

Sir Harry was slightly ashamed to admit that he did cry, that night. Sitting in the quiet corner on the swing seat that Miss Evershed had left moments before, the full emotional turmoil of the previous year and everything he had been through seemed to come upon him all at once. His wife's infidelity, the divorce, the spinout from his own infidelity, his children's distance, his son's drinking and gambling, the stress of his job and his officer's reputation ruining the only chance at happiness he had felt for some time. Miss Ruth Evershed was, quite simply, the most brilliant woman he had ever met. Even her refusals had been gentle and logical. After a quarter hour or so of solitude he decided he could not bear to return to the company at the house and instead snuck around the side to the front where he had a servant run to the stables for his horse and asked the nearest footman to convey his apologies to the Carters.

Riding home with haste he went straight to the whiskey at his rented apartments and drank himself into a sorry stupor, waking up in the middle of the night with a pounding headache and a full bladder. He pissed in his chamber pot, shoved it under the bed and then stripped off enough clothes to fall into the bed itself in a reasonable manner. The following morning saw him melancholic and temperamental. Even a cooked breakfast of bacon, eggs and coffee prepared by his landlady could do nothing to improve his demeanour. When he walked into the military offices he shared later that morning, his fellow military men knew at once to keep a wide bearth. His poor assistant took the brunt of more than one bout of temper and his determination to feel sorry for himself was hardly improved when it was announced, just before luncheon, that there was a Miss Evershed downstairs asking for a moment of his time. He refused, sent her away, and spent the next week avoiding every social engagement on his schedule, drinking too much and falling asleep on the uncomfortable furniture of his office overnight only to wake freezing cold in the early hours of the morning.

In complete contrast to General Pearce's profoundly drunken state of unconsciousness, Ruth had lain awake half the night fretting over her decision and the abrupt nature of two marriage proposals in a week from the same man. An eligible man. It was not that she detested the idea of marriage altogether, but she had so many doubts about binding herself to an unsuitable man that he must, surely, understand she could never marry such a powerful man after so short an acquaintance. As soon as the maid got up to light the fires Ruth resolved that she had tossed and turned long enough and got herself ready for the day. As soon as she was dressed and breakfasted she went to the Army Headquarters in the hope of securing an appointment to take up General Pearce's suggestion of her assistance in translating and hoping at the same time that she could ease his suffering by extending the hand of friendship. When she arrived he was not there and was told to return later in the morning. Instead she insisted on awaiting his arrival and so was there to see him enter a half an hour later with a face like a thundercloud and heading straight up the stairs without so much as acknowledging the salutes of the lower ranked officers. Ruth was taken aback, slightly, by the display of temper and almost walked out right then but after a moment's pause she realised that rather than being alarmed at his current temperament she found herself concerned for him. It was not long into their acquaintance as they stood in many a ballroom corner idling away the hours that Miss Evershed had realised the General had a much softer heart underneath the officer's frontage than was generally perceived to be the case. Yet when she sent up word a few minutes later of her presence there the reply was swift and brutal. He would not see her.

In society, too, Ruth Evershed could hardly fail to notice the General's absence. At the next society ball Zoe was the first to ask if something had happened, seeking an explanation for the officer's absence and noting how much the older man seemed to prefer her chaperone's company. Ruth made a polite neutral reply to the effect that the General must surely be busy and hoped that Miss Reynolds would drop the matter.

The next to raise the subject of General Pearce's whereabouts was Mrs Carter, who cornered her in the powder room at the same assembly and asked for an explanation as to why their old friend had departed so suddenly from their dinner party two evenings previous, with no explanation. Ruth tried to duck out of it but Mrs Carter was quite adamant that the footman had said they had been seen in the gardens moments before his departure. Ruth was on the forefront of confessing all but the words wouldn't seem to come out of her mouth and her extended silence resulted in an unhappy and somewhat sharp glare from Mrs Carter that informed Ruth in no uncertain terms that she would drop it for the moment but the matter was hardly concluded. For the first time in her life Miss Evershed felt genuine fear at the prospect of Mrs Carter's wrath. Having considered herself quite astute in the study of people, Ruth was quite ashamed to realise she had failed to acknowledge the true extent of the loyalty that General Pearce stirred up in those around him. In her chest Ruth's heart squeezed and she found herself wondering for the most fleeting of seconds whether she had, in fact, made the right decision before shaking herself and resolving that everything was as it should be and this was the sensible course.

Nevertheless for most of the next week, Ruth spent long hours with her books in the drawing room, brushing up on her Greek and Arabic. The fact that these were the particular languages that the General had sought assistance with was a consideration on which Ruth decided not to let her mind linger. She had, after all, always studied these languages and was simply refreshing her memory of much loved books of her fathers. Other matters soon began to fill up her time. There was the issue of planting in the garden for the new season, the care of the fruit trees and the general running of the household which was being neglected somewhat with the numerous social events of the season. A letter arrived from Cousin Malcolm, one of Miss Evershed's few remaining relatives, and she took her time very carefully responding to the polite overtures for news and gossip from London town.

Before long Zoe called, accompanied by a trusted male servant, asking for Ruth's presence as a chaperone a few days hence. Mr Hunter's father had, it seemed, invited Zoe to tea and Zoe would conscience none other than Ruth to accompany her. She had, therefore, called upon her old friend to solicit her advice regarding clothes, behaviour and everything else. If Mr Hunter's father approved of his son's choice, Zoe confided, then it would soon become known that Mr Hunter and Miss Reynolds were formally courting.

And so it was that a few days hence, Ruth found herself digging out the only really high quality gown she had left, a rather old duck-egg blue satin chemise with faded trim that she managed to update with a new border that the maid fetched from the haberdashers and an alteration to the length of the sleeves. It took some effort to get her hair to do as she wished, raised up in the Grecian style with a few curls offsetting her face. Her hair never would quite curl the way she wished it to, but by the end of a long day's effort she decided she looked as tolerable as any chaperone could expect to in such esteemed company and the fact that her long pelisse was somewhat outdated would surely hardly matter the moment she was inside Lord Hunter's residence and the servants took their coats. Fortunately the generosity of Mr Hunter's father extended to his household sending a town coach pulled by six magnificent matching bay geldings that quite took Ruth's breath away when she first caught sight of them. Two coachmen sat up on top, two footmen at the rear in quite the finest livery Ruth had ever set her eyes upon. Yet still, again and again, her eyes came back to the magnificent, shining, snorting horses that stopped half the street as they drew up to her house. Rarely had finer animals drawn any coach in London and she realised for the first time the sort of comfort that Daniel Hunter's family might offer, regardless of the opinion of high society as to whether he should be amongst them. Clearly his father had decided to favour him and it would be foolish of Zoe, Ruth realised, to spurn such an opportunity. If she truly liked her suitor, who was she or anyone else to decide they were not suited.

Yet in spite of making the best effort she could in the circumstances, the grandeur of the scene before her and the sight of half the street peering out through their windows, if they were not already standing in the street gawping in open amazement, made Ruth feel quite under-dressed as she was assisted by a footman into the coach itself. She was, understandably, the first to be picked up and they progressed to the Reynolds' residence where Zoe was already ready. With her parents gone before her and growing up under the disinterested guardianship of a distant relative who spent much time at his club, Zoe and Ruth had grown quite close but Ruth knew that Zoe longed for the day that she could be a free and independent woman. For a woman like Ruth, no marriage could ever offer such a thing but then Ruth knew that her circumstances were quite unique. With her mother having died before she had finished her schooling, Ruth had grown into womanhood under her father's loving and somewhat modern purview which allowed her all the education and opportunity that any son of a military man could ever have been offered. For Zoe, with all the restrictions of a household of servants and a distant but strict guardian, only marriage could offer the escape she so desired.

Even after the death of Ruth's father, with all the expenses entailed and the extremely modest circumstances she was left in, struggling to afford a servant or new clothing, Ruth still preferred her solitude and her books to any sort of tyranny of a husband. As Zoe chattered away in her excitement, Ruth thought again of the proposals from Sir Harry Pearce. She had told no one of the General's advances although now he had declared himself Ruth finally thought she understood the long gazes and open staring she had found herself on the receiving end of at many a debutante's ball throughout the start of their friendship.

To think that in all her plainness she had attracted the attention of a man of such power and standing! Albeit a man who drank and slept his way around half of London, by all accounts, but there were other aspects to the General's character which did not match up to the reputation. His kindness. His gentleness. The way he worried for his children.

They arrived to be greeted by Lord Hunter himself, home from lately having visited his plantation abroad. The subject made Ruth feel rather uncomfortable. She knew the wealth and incomes of most of society came from those estates abroad and yet the circumstances of the poor souls who laboured on those plantations was, surely, the most un-Christian of things. Never one to consider herself much of a rebel, Ruth had only realised of late that her views probably set her apart as one of the abolitionists and Lord Hunter by contrast was a well known member of the West India Lobby. Quite what the young Mister Hunter thought of his father's views, was a question best left for another day, Ruth decided. From the pamphlets Ruth had read on the subject she understood that the 1807 Act abolishing the trading of human slaves had not, in fact, abolished the institution in its entirety and in fact had only hardened the attitude of those Masters who sought to oppose any attempt at emancipating their property.

Yet here she was, in the home of one of the wealthiest men in London and, Ruth reminded herself, she was here on Zoe's account and so she set her mind to focusing on Miss Reynolds and ensuring she presented herself to the best of her abilities. The hopes of a polite, delicate afternoon tea talking about the weather, however, were dashed almost as soon they were shown into the tea room and Lord Hunter immediately lauched into a tale of disappointment at his son's refusal to accompany him to the family plantation in Jamaica.

"Father..." Private Hunter sighed. "You know I am resolved on the matter."

"You need to learn the family business, Daniel. I'm sure Miss Reynolds agrees with me."

Zoe looked uncomfortable, caught between father and son. "Actually," Zoe said carefully, "I have been reading the works of the late Gustavus Vassa. On your son's recommendation, Lord Hunter."

Lord Hunter sighed, heavily and gestured to the footman for more sugar in his tea. Ruth wondered if the product came from his own estate and if he was therefore trying to make some sort of subtle point.

"You know I cannot countenance people living in such circumstances," Daniel Hunter told his father. "My own influence may be restricted by my low birth and rank but I will use what influence I can, even on you, Father, to make you see reason on this matter."

"They are my property, Son. You cannot tell a man how to run his own estate. Miss Evershed, you are a woman of education I can see. What is your opinion on the subject?"

Put in a corner, Ruth was quite dumbstruck for a moment at being asked such a direct question from such a reknowned proponent of the institution of slavery and wondered for a moment whether to offer an heartfelt or a more neutral reply. Looking around for inspiration she caught sight of the small, chaste Christian cross Zoe wore around her neck and realised there was only one answer she could possibly, in good conscience, give.

"Well if you would permit me to speak as I find, Lord Hunter..." Ruth waited and received a nod in reply. "I find that as a Christian woman I must side with Mister Hunter on the matter."

"You see, Father?" Mister Hunter continued at once, using the support of the women around him to push his pregenitor, "It is not merely a matter of morals. There is also the matter of the rebellions. As a military man myself I can tell you there are far more slaves than soldiers on those islands. In the long run-"

But Lord Hunter seemed to tire of his son's proselytising and sighed heavily, cutting his son off. "Yes, yes, the pragmatic argument. Next you will be quoting the great Plato at me and arguing he was wrong. You must excuse us, ladies, we have had this argument more than once in my household. Let us talk of something more cheerful. I hear there is a concert in town tonight. A recitation of Beethoven's Third Symphony, I understand, in celebration of Napoleon's defeat and exile to Elba. Let it not be said that London society lacks a sense of irony!" Lord Hunter chuckled.

Meanwhile, as Lord Hunter contented himself with his own voice, Ruth could not fail to notice how close Mister Hunter and her charge, Miss Reynolds, sat on the love seat across the room. There was no doubt Zoe would be comfortable, Ruth realised, with a father-in-law like Lord Hunter. He came across as self-important, pompous and arrogant but a man who, doubtless, loved his son.

After tea when they were walking in the gardens, Ruth found herself on the arm of the Viscount himself, listening to the trouble he had had securing a living for his child.

"I tried to purchase him a commission of course, but the bastards wouldn't have it. My daughter is lately married as you may have heard and to a man with a proven track record of producing sons, I made sure, so she will doubtless be with child soon if she is not already and then the title will go to my grandson when one appears, which will surely not be long."

Ruth blushed furiously, struggling to keep her shock to herself at the man's brazen attitude to his daughter's life and marriage bed. To openly discuss such matters with an unmarried lately was, really, quite inappropriate in Ruth's own opinion. "My dear Lord Hunter, you must excuse me but I hardly think it appropriate."

"You never thought of marrying yourself? Or life as a mistress, perhaps? You are quite pretty in your own way. I could make you quite comfortable and give you children. All my liasons have children."

For just the briefest of moments Ruth froze in horror at the realisation the Lord Hunter was propositioning her. Should she stay silent and hope he dropped the subject or would it be more correct to issue and outright refusal. "I'm not sure whether I've just been complimented or insulted, Lord Hunter. I am nobody's mistress. As it happens I am quite content with my situation."

They were just walking past the summer house and ahead of them, Zoe and Daniel turned a corner, chattering away happily. The moment they turned the corner, however, Lord Hunter pounced. Ruth saw it almost in slow motion, the way he turned to her, the way he lunged towards her, the way he pinned her body against the outside wall of the summer with a forearm against her chest. The threatening look in her eye. Too shocked to speak, too shocked to do anything in response to the assault fear struck to Ruth's very heart as he began to lift up her skirt and petticoat.

"Please...please Lord Hunter..." Ruth shook her head

"Please what?" He grinned.

"Stop! Please stop this. Don't do this, please don't do this."

"Begging for it, are you? I like a woman who begs. Daniel's mother begged too, did you know that?"

Ruth began shaking in terror and his arm pressed heavier across her body preventing her escape. She looked around helplessly and spotted a footman at some distance across the way standing, eyes front with his hands clasped behind his back and knew immediately she wouldn't get any help there and all the while Lord Hunter's eyes were dripping with avarice and glee, his hand inching up her leg, past her knee. Frozen to the spot in panic numbness seemed to overcome her. It was as if her mind detached completely from her body as his hand moved over her hip, her buttocks and then to the front and down between her legs.

"No," Ruth gasped, hating his touch with every fibre of her being. Hating the way he parted her lips and explored her, chuckling to himself at her despair and then forced two fingers inside her dry vagina. Ruth bit back a whimper, terror coursing through her as the hand was removed and he began to fumble at the buttons on his breeches when in the distance Lance-Corporal Hunter's voice rang out for this father.

In a moment he was gone, stepping back onto the path with a wave and a smile, joking about his age and falling behind.

Ruth sank against the wall, her shaking legs struggling to hold her up. Shaking hands tried to smooth down her skirts. Blood rushed through her head, she couldn't see, she couldn't hear. A fog of relief and terror flooded her as she struggled to get her bearings. With difficulty Ruth stumbled towards the summerhouse and sank down upon a seat. Clasping her hands together and wishing she was at that moment home, alone, with Fidget. Her eyes did not take in the view. Confusion, guilt and a storm of emotion warred in her mind until a hand on her own made Ruth jump and suddenly Zoe was there, asking of she was quite alright with Lance-Corporal Hunter standing in the distance looking on with concern.

"I...I don't feel well."

"Well why didn't you say something? Come on, we'll get you home. It is kind of Lord Hunter to invite us to the concert this evening but we mustn't overexert ourselves. Come, Miss Evershed. Its alright, take my arm...that's it..."

Ruth was pale, drawn and silent in their walk back. She refused to go in the house, insisting instead on the need for fresh air. Zoe could not fail to hide her concern at Miss Evershed's unusual turn and moreover Zoe thought her chaperone to be quite unlike herself in the manner in which she refused to let go of Zoe's arm. Nearby, Lance-Corporal Hunter hovered, his face the picture of concern as Lord Hunter reassured his son that women were fickle beings and they would surely be quite alright in a trifle.

The fact that Ruth had to bear the ride home in the barouche that Lord Hunter had provided was an added source of fear, anxiety and emotional pain. Anger began to well inside her. Why hadn't she done something? Why hadn't she stopped him? Why hadn't she warned Zoe? Miss Reynolds had been dropped off minutes before with nary a word said except an insistence that Ruth look after herself. The stares of the neighbours as she dismounted from the carriage took on a different hue after her ordeal that afternoon. The question of what sort of family Miss Reynolds might be considering marrying into took on a different tone altogether but Ruth could not think of such things now. Beth met her at the door, took one look at her and ordered her to bed before feeding her with hot, sweet tea with lots of milk accompanied by toasted bread and jam and asking if she should call for a doctor.

"No, thank you, Beth. I took a funny turn, that's all. I'm sure I'll be quite alright in the morning."

Beth looked far from convinced but gave into her mistress's wishes and left her with a bedside bell and promised to check on her in an hour. Much of the rest of the evening was spent with Ruth stroking Fidget who had snuck into the bedroom where he was normally forbidden and jumped up onto the bed. His warm fur and the loyalty of her pet cat were a small solace. She had been attacked, she had been denigrated and she had stood there and done nothing. Zoe was at risk and Ruth had done nothing to warn her. Who could she tell? Who would belive her? Who would believe anything said against such a man, a man with so much power and influence? And even if she were believed who in their right mind would pursue the matter?

Everything in Ruth told her that the son was not like the father. Lance-Corporal Hunter had never once displayed any ounce of ill behaviour towards Zoe or any other woman in his company. Nor could the young man possibly know of his mother. From their earlier discussion on the subject of slavery, it was clear that Lord Hunter believed he could do no wrong and where something was wrong, it was still his right to do as he pleased. Such men were dangerous, Ruth knew. Dangerous men, dangerous masters. Unpredictable and fickle. Not like Sir Harry. Sir Harry may have displayed flickers of quickfire temper at the sight of some unwanted social acquaintance but she had never been treated with anything other than respect in his presence. Thinking of General Pearce and his strange proposal only worsened the emotional ordeal of Miss Evershed, it was difficult to the man she felt so drawn to in the same breath as Lord Hunter and she resolved not to think on the matter, which naturally meant that she spent long hours fretting over what she might have done, what General Pearce would think of her, how to save Zoe and overwhelming anger at everything and nothing. It was a long time before Ruth finally lapsed into an exhausted sleep.

Four days of complete solitude, bed rest, prayer and lots of soup improved Ruth's angry, fraught and volatile mood. She spent long hours pacing. She sat in the garden. She agonised over the chess board. Finally, with no more answers than she'd had the day she was attacked other than the absolute terror that coursed through her veins every time she thought of the ordeal, she came to the conclusion that she was in need of some purpose, some work, that she could absorb herself in in the hope of burying awful memory of that hateful day. Or, at the very least, she might concentrate on the work and let her subconscious come up with its own answers in its own time.

It was with this new resolve in mind that Ruth dressed herself in a plain, demure dark-blue dress that she hoped would allow her to fade into the background and made her way once more to the offices of General Pearce with a singular purpose in mind. She was going to be seen and she was going to take on his translation work because if she didn't do something she was going to lose her mind and end up in Bethlam.

It was, by anyone's standards, quite early in the morning when General Pearce's office door burst open and Miss Ruth Evershed burst in, followed by the desk sergeant he recognised from downstairs, following in her wake and insisting she couldn't go in there.

"Its quite alright, Sergeant. Miss Evershed is welcome here."

"But sir!"

"Miss Evershed is here in a professional capacity," Sir Harry confided quietly, only to make the Sergeant's eyebrows raise up sharply in surprise at the audacity of the officer before him. Only as his words were spoken aloud and elicited the surprising reaction from his subordinate did Sir Harry realise the manner in which they had been taken. "As a linguist, Sergeant. A linguist! Jesus Christ," Sir Harry muttered and rubbed his forehead.

"I wanted to speak to you, General, about the translation work," Miss Evershed announced at what turned out to be quite an opportune moment. Ushering the Sergeant out but leaving the door open for the sake of propriety, General Pearce turned to give his full attention to his visitor. "Miss Evershed, how do you do?"

But already he seemed to have lost control of the situation. Spying the papers on his desk she had made a beeline for the assorted pile of papers he had discarded to one side due to his lack of talent in that direction and in all truth, he should have secured the services of a linguist much sooner than he had. Scratching through them with her fingernails the General watched as Miss Evershed scrambled from one sheet to the next, alarm lighting her features.

"What?" Sir Harry asked finally.

"How long have these been sitting here? This one is dated nearly two months ago?!"

General Pearce blushed to think. It was uncharacteristic of him to let something linger so long but the difficult matter of a trained scholar who was eminently trustworthy was a hurdle which had remained from the day they had come through his door to this one.

"I will need all the materials you have," Miss Evershed told him. "Everything that I'm allowed to see. Did they come with other communications? Some of them refer to other documents. Do you know who he is?"

"Who who is?"

"Your mole."

The General stopped dead.

"You should go and contact your Superiors, General. It is most urgent. The information he's giving out..."

"Miss Evershed," Sir Harry interrupted, "How can you possibly know-"

"Who else has seen these?" Miss Evershed demanded.

He sighed heavily. "They've been sitting on my desk for some time until I could secure the services of a trustworthy translator. May I presume, given the nature of your arrival at my office, that you are interested in taking on the work?"

Ruth did, at least, have the decency to blush. She had almost forgotten for a moment where she was, the old thrill of her work with military missives coming back to her. Once upon a time Admiral Evershed had listened intently to her advice. It was not her place here, she realised, to be so forthright with the General. Yet he was standing there, taking her rebuke and making polite enquiries into the nature of her visit. "Yes, General," Ruth put down the papers. "And now that I see the letters you refer to I can understand that discretion is most definitely required. At first glance it would seem that the matter may be somewhat more complicated than you initially anticipated."

"Miss Evershed, I have known for some time that there is a high level spy amongst society London. However-"

"Yes, yes, but the Americans, General. Why didn't you say something?"

"Say what?"

"All this time we've been worried about Napoleon," Ruth shook her head. "Of course, its blindingly obvious when you think about it."

The General, no matter how hard he considered the matter, did not have the slightest clue to what Miss Evershed was referring. "Miss Evershed," Sir Harry began quietly, "I'm afraid you are going to have to enlighten me."

"From what I can see at first glance, the contents of these letter appear to refer to information gathered from sailors who have worked on illicit transatlantic slave ships. Of course we've known for some time that the United States is unhappy with the clauses under the 1807 Act allowing British privateers to board ships bearing neutral flags. It would seem that whoever your mole is, is passing information to the Americans."

"To try and get the Act overturned? Or for some other nefarious purpose? Whatever does that have to do with Napoleon?" The General began pacing. "Miss Evershed, I shall need accurate translations of all the correspondence as soon as may be."

"Of course," Ruth began gathering up her materials.

"However," General Pearce continued, "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to remove them from the premises. You may have my office. I can have someone sent to your residence for whatever you need to complete the task."

That seemed to give Miss Evershed pause for thought and she stared at him with those piercing blue eyes in a way that made his heart lurch slightly and a sigh escaped him. "I should warn you that depending on the contents of the letter I may also require your presence when next updating the Prince Regent on the matter."

"The Prince Regent? You cannot be serious?"

"I am required to personally update him regarding my progress in my investigation at least once a week," Sir Harry confided. "The last update was, as you can imagine, somewhat strained due to my lack of progress. I cannot imagine the news that we now have to watch out for activities from our former colony as well as Bonepart can be welcome in any way but it is, at least, progress, is it not?"

"General, you must excuse me, I cannot possibly go before the Prince Regent."

The General stopped and looked up sharply. "May I ask why not? Even if the Prince himself commands it?"

Miss Evershed looked away at this and blushed, seeming to lose some of her confidence at this announcement.

"He has informed me that when I do secure a linguist he is intent on meeting with him personally."

"Well for starters, General, I am not a man."

The General waved off that excuse without a word.

"And secondly I have not a thing to wear. I hesitate to own to it, but I have not had a new dress since my father died. Economies will not allow for it, General, and it is not that I mind but my father would mind, if he were still here and I cannot...I cannot..." Sir Harry heard a hitch in her breath and turned towards her, taking the smallest of steps in her direction. "...I cannot bear the thought of my father ever thinking ill of me," Miss Evershed whispered, her eyes blinking rapidly to stop the tears that had welled up from spilling down her cheeks. She sniffled then, and cleared her throat, excusing herself. "I know it is not proper to talk of such things in company, but I think we are beyond such things, you and I," Miss Evershed finished.

Sir Harry reached out and put a gentle hand on Miss Evershed's forearm. "I tend to find, in matters such as these, providence has a funny way of playing its hand, Miss Evershed." She looked up at him then and he was struck by the slight twinkle of hope in her eyes. Sir Harry could not help but respond to the blooming warmth in his chest with a smile that heated his eyes and made Miss Evershed's lips turn up slightly in the corners. "There, isn't that better," He patted her arm. "Why don't I send for some tea and have a second desk brought in and then we can get started."

They worked away for most of the morning, General Pearce at his desk and Miss Evershed at a second desk brought in and situated at right angles to his own. The General ordered a runner to go to Miss Evershed's home to speak to the maid and have the titles she requested sent over for the aid of her translation work. He had tea brought in. By the time lunchtime came around he was just about ready to send for some soup and sandwiches when Miss Evershed announced that she would have to return home and could return again tomorrow or later that afternoon.

"Miss Evershed," Sir Harry countered, "You yourself spoke of the urgency of the matter."

"Indeed, General but there are some matters to which I am not able to attend here that...oh why must you be so! You know perfectly well I cannot speak about..."

"Speak about what?"

Ruth rolled her eyes at him. It was such a personal reaction that Sir Harry found himself taking a moment to memorise it. "You have been married, General, you are perfectly aware that there are some matters concerning a woman's deportement to which a female must attend in the privacy of her own home." She could hardly, after all, change her rags here and while she was at the end of her monthly bleed and had spent the portion of her heavier days cooped up at home, Ruth was still aware of the necessity of changing the rags regularly as it tailed off.

The General's eyes fixed on her in confusion until she made a little tilt of the head that somehow communicated exactly what she meant and he suddenly realised quite what she was referring to. "Ah," Harry's face turned slightly pink partly at the topic of conversation. He was shocked, indeed, that she had even alluded to the subject although he considered that this just another thing to add to the odd and strangely intimate nature of their relationship and he supposed, given his obtuseness. Somehow it had completely failed to occur to him that in engaging a woman for the task he would of course be required to consider such things. He could quite have kicked himself for his thoughtlessness but hoped he could make it up in the manner in which they went forwards. "Of course, Miss Evershed. You must do whatever is necessary to see to your personal comfort. If there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, General. I have been sitting for some time anyway. Let me take a couple of hours for lunch and I shall return this afternoon to finish the most important letters. Will that satisfy the Prince Regent for the time being, do you think?"

"Considering, Miss Evershed, that you have made more progress in a morning than I have staring at those letters in two weeks, I should quite think it will, Madam."

Ruth could have blushed, were it not for the fact that her face was already bright red from the embarrassment of having to explain the female body to man who had been married and fathered a daughter. While it was not done to talk about such things, there was no getting around the fact that such things had to be brought into consideration. Since her father had spent much of his time in his study at home and had correspondence conveyed to and from the house by his inferiors, such personal matters had never been something that she had to consider before when taking on work of this nature. It was, however, something which had to be worked around and there was no getting away from it. A few days off here and there, or regular visits home would quite suffice, Ruth was satisfied.

"Well then," General Pearce stood to show her out, "I thank you for your time."

Miss Evershed gathered her purse and pelisse and allowed him to walk her as far as the door where he secured a handsome cab and insisted on paying the fare in advance. As any gentleman would, Sir Harry offered her his hand as she stepped up and found herself strangely reluctant to let it go. It was warm, his hand. Warm and large and gave her the most peculiar sensation of safety, which was at once comforting and yet completely inexplicable after her ordeal with Lord Hunter. Indeed, after that ordeal she had sworn to Beth to spurn the company of any men although the words had been spoken in haste and anger. Yet only as the cab drew aware and their hands were parted did Ruth become aware that she had just willingly spent an entire morning in the company of a man whom she admired and, apparently, trusted.

Yes, in spite of everything, Ruth Evershed realised she did trust General Pearce. Now wasn't that food for thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Ruth Evershed returned home and changed her rags before sitting down to the luncheon that Beth had prepared. On many occasions such as this Ruth refused to stand on ceremony. It seemed entirely ludicrous to her that she should eat alone in the Dining Room and that Beth should eat alone in the kitchen so Ruth, much to Beth's disquiet, often insisted they eat together in the kitchen and talked of matters ranging from Zoe's ongoing courtship with Daniel Hunter, the running of the household and matters about town. Coming as they did from different classes, Ruth was always fascinated to hear the goings on that Beth was party to and more than once discovered a fascinating piece of information courtesy of the loose tongues of the staff of other households.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before the subject of General Pearce came up after his visit the previous day and Ruth's visit to his offices that morning. Ruth found herself denying that any form of courtship was going on only for Beth to offer her opinion on the man. Ruth found herself grateful that she was able to explain it was simply a business relationship to do with her skills as a linguist, similar to the work she had carried out for her father before his passing. Yet after the luncheon was finished Ruth found herself grateful to be out of the house and have an excuse to return to the offices. The disappointment Ruth felt when she discovered Sir Harry was in a meeting for the duration of the afternoon was more than she had expected but she was being engaged to do a job and completed her work as quickly as possible and left her translations in the appointed place for the General's purusual. Now she just had to find someone suitable to pass along the message.

Finding the most ignored member of his staff downstairs was easy. There was a young Indian soldier who was cheerfully going about his business, invisible in a room full of people and upon observation quite remarkably capable. Ruth knew he was the man for the job and at once set about cornering him.

"Private Tariq Masood, at your service Ma'am," He introduced himself and Ruth made sure he knew to inform the General the moment he was out of his meeting that the documents he required were in the agreed place. Cheerfully Masood assured her that he would see to the matter and Ruth decided that she liked the young man. More quickly than she had anticipated, Miss Evershed found herself free for the rest of the afternoon and wondered for the first time in a long time how she should spend her day. Ordinarily her home would beckon with all its books and comforts but the awkward questions Beth had asked at luncheon – the result, Ruth realised, of having cultivated a sense of overfamiliarity between them instead of insisting on the status of Mistress and maid – made that an uninviting prospect. She could call on Zoe, but what had once been a pleasant association was now riddled with the stress, anger and anxiety of the attack from Lord Hunter and her concerns over the future for Zoe should Miss Reynolds indeed decide to pursue things, as she seemed to be doing, with Daniel Hunter. Whatever Zoe's choice, Ruth found she wanted to avoid Lord Hunter at all costs.

In the end Miss Evershed decided she was in need of some solitude and contemplation and so headed in the direction of Charing Cross, soon finding herself outside the chapel of Saint Martin-In-The-Field. Ruth entered quietly, chose an empty pew approximately two-thirds of the way towards the front where the acoustics were just right and closed her eyes to pray for God's guidance. Some time later, evensong began and for the duration of the service all earthly thoughts left Ruth Evershed's mind while she immersed herself in the ancient, sacred, sublime music of God.

A short distance away, just as Ruth Evershed was immersing herself in the beauty of the choral music of the Church of England, General Pearce was coming out of a meeting to be greeted by a messenger who had arrived with haste bearing urgent news of his ex-wife. Casting all other matters aside as soon as he read the letter, he requisitioned the nearest horse and rode with the utmost haste to the marital home he had once shared with his wife.

The household servants knew him. The butler showed him in and straight to the master bedroom upstairs. Catherine was present, weeping in the hallway. A group of maids stood, dirty and exhausted and over-wrought with emotion. The stewards stood stoic, caps in hands.

Just at that moment the Doctor emerged, bloodied, and all Harry could do was stand there staring and pale with shock. The General looked at the Doctor. The Doctor shook his head. When Sir Harry made for the entrance of what had once been his own bedroom no one stopped him. No one had the heart.

Jane was laid out on the bed, blood everywhere. A mewling infant was cradled in the hands of the head gardener's wife in the far corner of the room. "Jane..." Harry lurched towards her bed. For all the animosity, for all the hatred, for all that had passed between them he had never wanted it to end like this. A sudden rush of memories came upon him and he remembered at the last, everything that had been goodness and love between them in their earliest years.

A sad smile pulled at her face. A weak hand reached towards him and he moved straight towards it, whispering sweet nothings as he had done in their youth. "Jane..."

"Harry."

"Its alright, I'm here now," He whispered, holding her hand and found himself kissing her forehead.

"Let me hold her."

"You're too weak," Harry said softly, "Concentrate on getting well."

"Harry. Let me hold her," Jane insisted.

For the first time since entering the room Sir Harry took a good look at the loyal wife of his head gardener. Erin, if he remembered. How long had the Watts tried for a child? He tried to remember. Beckoning the woman forwards Harry carefully extracted the child from her arms and lowered the bundle carefully into the weak arms of his former wife.

"Erin will take her," Jane told him. "Harry promise me..."

"The child will want for nothing, I promise. The father?"

"Gone," Jane whispered. She was weakening. The blood loss too much but Harry watched, tears in his eyes, as Jane insisted on feeding the girl. The little pink squirming bundle of joy and tears suckling away so steadily at the breast that would soon be cold.

"Harry, promise me something. Promise me you'll be happy. Don't be the man you were, be the man you could be, could still be. Promise me."

"I promise," the tears ran freely. Rarely in all his years in battle did Sir Harry think he had cried quite so much as he had cried in the last two days; and now this. "Jane, I'm so sorry..."

"I don't want to die," Jane whispered quietly and then grasped his hand suddenly tight and stared at him earnestly. "Look after the children?"

"Every day," Sir Harry responded solemnly. He made all the promises she desired. Held her hand. Preclaimed his love and watched he slip quietly into the world beyond.

"Rosie..." The last words on her lips.

After she was gone he closed her eyes and sat with her a while. When the child began to fuss he lifted Rosie and kissed her forehead and then placed her carefully in the arms of Mrs Erin Watts. Gardener's wife, loyal servant and now, finally, mother.

"Look after her, Erin?"

"Yes, sir."

It was with the heaviest of hearts that Major General Pearce walked out of the bedroom, that he had once shared with his wife, for the last time. There would be things to sort out. For the moment there was his son and his daughter, Graham and Catherine. He nodded at them and stood out of the way so that they might pass and see her one last time. A minister arrived to console with them but Harry let the Minister pass by into the room, unable to bear the simpering platitudes of the Church at such a time.

Harry knew he had to write to Malcolm. Had to write to Jane's parents. Had to spend time with his son and daughter. Had to engage a wetnurse. Had to organise a funeral. There were so many things to be done and yet he could think of nothing but the grief that consumed him. He wandered off a little way to find some peace and found himself in the nearby bedroom that he had often taken in the infrequent visits home. It still remained largely untouched since he had been there last. In their divorce had let Jane have all she desired including the house and he noticed it smelled faintly of her. Had she come in here? Had she brought her men home or gone somwhere else? Who was the father of her child? He had wondered such things before and for what? How could he blame her, now, for her infidelity? She had loved him once, Harry realised, as he now loved Ruth. His beautiful Ruth. How could he blame her for seeking her pleasures elsewhere when he was gone for years at a time. What a thing he had done, to her, to his marriage. The eternal pleasure of a woman's body, the heat of her sex, spilling his seed into another cunt...his baser urges leading him further and further away year after year from the marriage bed he ought to have shared with his wife. How many children had he himself fathered? How many children like Rosie sat at other husbands tables? He would never know, but he could make changes now in what time he had left.

Catherine and Graham were inconsolable. Graham though still in his teenage years drank to an excess that scared Sir Harry and there was every indication of his having been recently at the bottle. Catherine was distant and angry, angry at her father that he had been there when her mother had passed and she who had cared for her mother all through Jane's last confinement, had not. Angry at the child. Angry at so much in this world. Angry at him.

Walking back outside to face the servants, one of the maids spoke up, said she knew a serving woman in a neighbouring household who had recently given birth to a child and lost her position. Rumour was it was the Master's child. Sir Harry surmised it was entirely likely, given the way that so many men carried on with their servants. Personally Sir Harry had always considered engaging sexually with one's own servants to be a matter of gross stupidity, nevertheless he agreed to allow the maid to send for the woman and set about engaging her as a wet nurse for Jane's child. Many hours were spent, trying to reason with his children. Fighting off the supposed help of the Minister when the only man of the church who Harry could possibly countenance was Malcolm and in the end he had a messenger sent post haste to carry the news of Jane's passing and requesting Malcolm's presence as soon as may be.

Having rushed out of his office so quickly and with the dreadful events of the afternoon, it had quite escaped Sir Harry's mind that he was supposed to update the Prince Regent that evening on the progress in translating the documents. Quite escaped him that was, until the young Tariq Masood, a soldier on secondment from the Army of the East India Company, arrived at his wife's residence informing Sir Harry that a messenger from the Palace had arrived not one hour ago with strict instructions that General Pearce was to meet with the Prince Regent at this evening's concert in the Hanover Square Rooms. He cursed the Prince under his breath, caught between the grief of the household and the expectant look of the eager youth before him who was clearly unaware of the dreadful events of the afternoon.

Sir Harry sat down with a heavy sigh and ran his hand over his face. Even now, at this private moment of grief, work beckoned. Was it any wonder Miss Evershed had her reservations? The thought that he had been willing to risk bigamy to be with the woman niggled at his mind, but that was hardly the point now. Jane was dead, passed from this life.

Seeing his son pass in the hallway before him, Sir Harry tried to call on Graham only to be met with a stream of words that would put most sailors to shame. General Pearce was stumped as to how to reach his son and when Graham insisted he was going out drinking and would not be back before the morning, Sir Harry could do nothing but watch Graham go, wondering if he would not find himself present at the birth of another illegitimate child nine months from now if the boy was his father's son, which rather unfortunately quite appeared to be the case. As it was, Sir Harry was already thinking of writing his son out of his will, unwilling to see years of hard work and toil thrown away on the gambling table by the folly of youth. Yet for the present moment, there was nothing he could do but watch the young man walk out the door.

Catherine appeared and seemed to sense at once, with a single look at her father, that he was departing.

"My presence has been requested by His Royal Highness the Prince Regent," Sir Harry announced. "It would be more than my life is worth to spurn him at such a time."

"Father! You cannot possibly!"

"Catherine, I must," he sighed heavily. "How is your sister?"

"Erin is looking after her," Catherine shrugged she seemed on the verge of tears and seeing, finally, a moment where he might finally be some sort of father to her, Sir Harry reached out and took his daughter in his arms, letting her cry out her grief on his shoulder, her tears seeping into the red woolen fabric of his uniform. His heart clenched, grief he had not expected to feel at the death of his ex-wife piled on top of the pain he already felt at seeing his family and former household so inconsoleable.

"You should not be alone," Sir Harry told his daughter firmly. "Not at such a time." It occurred to him that of all his acquaintence, Miss Evershed would be uniquely suited to console with Catherine having lost both her parents. He wondered how they might get along but the possibility of his daughter's questions along with the fact that he had already taken up a significant portion of Miss Evershed's day with the translation work she had taken on, made the General shy away from the possibility. Instead he resolved to call on the steady head and no-nonsense attitude of Mrs Carter who would, Sir Harry was sure, have everything in order quite promptly and his mind made up, he quickly sent a footman out across town to fetch her. There was no one who could manage a household quite like Fiona Carter and no one within the family was in a position to make important decisions right now. Yet Sir Harry could see the sense of betrayal in his daughter's eyes as he made his goodbyes. Too many goodbyes, too many excuses over the years, too little precious time spent with her to allow Catherine to forgive a call even from the Prince Regent himself.

It was only as he departed in the household town coach for his own apartment that Sir Harry came to wonder why Catherine herself was not out in society and the more he thought on the matter the more he cringed. She could hardly have gone out in company with her mother this last season, not with Jane heavy with a clearly illegitimate child. The divorce could hardly have helped matters and then there was his own reputation as a drunk and a philanderer. No matter that he was trying to mend his ways for the benefit of Miss Evershed, clearly the damage was already done when it came to his daughter and as for a dowry, Sir Harry realised he was quite unaware whether Catherine even had one.

Another responsibility to add to his burden. Another reparation to be made. His children had needed a father and he had failed them. He had made his excuses, war and women and Jane's men too and yet the result in the end was that he had all but abandoned them to their fate, letting them live their own lives apart from him while he went off chasing skirts and bottles of whiskey. General Pearce realised he would have to step up now. Someone would have to step in to correct Graham for Jane, clearly, had not done so and as for Catherine, his lack of interest in his own daughter's prospects while putting the hope of his own happiness to the fore was reprehensible.

But there was no more time to think on such things. There was barely time as it was for him to have some supper and change into his full dress uniform before rushing off to Hanover Square.

Earlier that same day, just as General Pearce was rushing to the deathbed of his former wife Jane, Ruth Evershed emerged from evensong feeling calm and centred and in control for the first time in as long as she could remember. Feeling much better than she had for some time, Ruth returned home thinking how nice it would be to call upon Zoe in the next few days and spend an afternoon together as they had done before the social season had gotten quite so hectic, to take a walk in the park and go for marzipan sweets at one of the local sweet shops.

Supper was a simple affair. After the somewhat awkward encounter with Beth over luncheon, Ruth decided that she would eat dinner in the dining room after all and had Beth wait on her. While Ruth was ever hopeful of being a kind and considerate mistress who thoughtful towards her employees, she still liked them to know their proper place within the household and while Ruth had always been cordial to Beth and paid her well and she was, indeed, happy to hear Beth prattle away about all the little details of her life, Ruth could not honestly say that she counted Beth amongst her confidantes. Better, she thought, to keep such a person in cordial terms but at arm's length.

And so it was that Ruth ate supper alone in complete silence in the dining room. The good fresh soup and bread hardly seemed worth making the fuss over and so Ruth forced herself to sit through a second course of cold ham that she could barely afford before thanking Beth for her service and retiring to read. The familiar noises of Beth pottering in the kitchen reassured Ruth that all was well. Some short while later the doorbell rang and when it was not immediately answered, Ruth realised that Beth must have gone out to take in the washing in off the line in the back garden before darkness fell and so she found herself going to the front door on her own with some trepidation. Memories of her ordeal at the hands of Lord Hunter stirred and for a moment she almost didn't answer it. Only the thought that General Pearce might call unexpectedly once again persuaded her to in fact open the door but she was surprised when she did so to find none other than Adam Carter waiting to call on her.

"Colonel Carter!"

The boyish grin on his face told Ruth that he was probably up to mischief and so Ruth ushered him inside, thinking it best the neighbours did not see handsome married men calling at her upon an evening.

"My dear Miss Evershed I have a proposition for you!" Carter announced. "Fiona and I had tickets to visit the Hanover Square Rooms tonight only Fiona has been called away on an urgent personal matter and I find myself quite alone for the evening."

"Well whatever are you doing here?!" Ruth exclaimed.

"I thought you might like to cause a scandal and go with me in her stead. Actually, it was Fiona's idea, she said that you had been spending all your time with Miss Reynolds of late and thought you might appreciate the opportunity to expand your social circle."

Ruth, ever the cynic, suspected Mrs Carter's motives to be somewhat different. After the interrogations in the powder room once upon a time, Miss Evershed was more inclined to suspect that Mrs Carter was hoping her husband could weasel some good gossip out of the evening and yet, after such a trying series of days, the thought of an evening in the pleasant and easy company of Colonel Carter was extremely appealing to her.

"But what if people think-" Ruth tailed off. She could not bear people thinking of her as a loose woman, as someone like that. Someone who would carry on with a married man.

"I am quite able to inform the nosy bastards that Mrs Carter was indisposed and suggest I take along the daughter of my good friend Admiral Evershed in her stead and with her permission," Adam Carter concluded with a little bob of his heels. Seeing Ruth waver, thinking twice about it, Colonel Carter decided he was not above begging. "Oh, please, Ruth. The music is sublime but I can't bear the thought of an entire evening with the boring old gits that attend these things. Your observations never fail to make me smile. Come out for the night and give me something to laugh at."

For Adam Carter's part, the news of General Pearce's wife that had reached the household that evening had been extremely sobering. The evening's entertainment was very nearly called off altogether were it not for Fiona's astute insistence that Sir Harry would insist everything carry on as normal until they were ready to make an announcement of Lady Jane's passing.

"I suppose it would be a rare evening out where I was not required to play the chaperone."

"Exactly!" Carter enthused. "Come on! Go get your glad rags on, I have the coach waiting."

"Adam, I have barely a thing to wear," Miss Evershed warned him.

"Oh, nobody cares about that, Ruth. Its not like the Prince Regent will be there. Besides, if you are so in need of evening wear I'll buy you something myself. I still owe you for saving my life in Tunisia that time."

"You know I could not accept and I did not save your life, I merely negotiated with the locals on your behalf. It was a perfectly routine misunderstanding, Colonel Carter."

"Fine. Lets pretend that it was. I'll set Fiona on you and then you'll have to let me buy you something to get her off your back!"

Ruth glared at Adam, warming to his company. Mrs Carter was indeed one of the most stubborn and tenacious persons she had ever had the honour to meet. Theirs was a strained acquaintence, for Adam was like a brother to Ruth after many a long voyage with Carter's troops stationed aboard her father's ship and while Mrs Carter was clearly devoted to Adam, Miss Evershed and Mrs Carter had never quite bridged that gap themselves. There was, however, no doubt in Ruth's mind that, all money aside, if Colonel Carter set his wife to the task of refreshing an old spinster's wardrobe that Ruth indeed would quickly give in just for the sake of following the path of least resistence in the face of Mrs Carter's tenacity.

In the end, Miss Evershed gave in. Colonel Carter sat downstairs having tea while Ruth went upstairs and found a demure evening dress that was suitable for the occasion. The blue one was her best but after the ordeal at Lord Hunter's hands she had asked Beth to throw it out and quite honestly never wanted to see the garment again even and although it was her best. The weather it seemed was finally warming up and rather than wearing her pelisse, Ruth decided to opt for her best spencer and gloves along with a simple but well made bonnet and matching purse. The coach was waiting outside and although they were very nearly late and had little time to mill around before the concert, they took their seats and waited with everyone else as the starting time came and went.

Upon entering they had bumped into several of Colonel Carter's acquaintences who had been sorry to hear of Mrs Carter's indisposal and wished her all the best. Ruth, having no idea what the matter was about, smiled politely and nodded in all the correct places. It wasn't like Mrs Carter to take ill. Had Miss Evershed had to describe Mrs Carter's constitution the word 'oxen' came to mind and Adam had been particularly opaque on the matter. Still, Ruth was glad to have the excuse of an evening out and in such good company too. She had a sneaking suspicion that if she had been alone at home she would have spent all night fretting and festering in her own emotions. The anger and betrayal at Lord Hunter's actions had not abated and raised more questions about Zoe's future. As the man's future daughter-in-law she worried for her charge and yet had resolved not to speak on the matter with Miss Reynolds until she had made up her own mind on the best course of action. As they sat waiting for the performance to begin, Ruth wished she had some sort of confidante she could confide in. Yet such was the genial, brotherly relationship she had with Colonel Carter she was unwilling to broach the subject with him and Miss Evershed worried that any of her female acquaintences would judge her honour tarnished by the attack.

The thought briefly occurred to her to raise the matter with General Pearce who was, after all, a man who had lived several years longer than her and undoubtedly knew more of the characters of men both good and bad from his position as an officer in the Army. Yet raising the matter of an attack on her person with the man she had just twice spurned struck her as particularly insensitive even if he was the only one with whom she could countenance raising the matter.

After several long minutes of sitting and waiting, Miss Evershed and Colonel Carter were just beginning to wonder what was taking so long when a courtier in royal livery entered and announced the presence of the Prince Regent. Ruth gasped in surprise and nervously began fumbling with her purse, trying not to drop anything as the entire room rose as one for the Prince Regent's entry. She had to admit he was exactly the sort of man whom her father warned her about. The sort of man who drank, who partied and gambled, who openly seduced virgins and other mens wives. Many a nobleman had been forced to watch His Royal Highness go after a beloved daughter or spouse unable to do anything. Some considered him great. Others power hungry, shallow and a fat old oaf who longed for his father's death to cement his own grip on the throne. Certainly the King's ill health showed no signs of abating and as long as George III remained mad, the Prince Regent would remain in charge.

It was with great intrigue however that Ruth, along with everyone else, watched the Prince Regent enter. For certain the man was well dressed even if he did have the air, demeanour and body of someone who spent long hours over-indulging himself. General Pearce, Ruth mused, although being a man with a bit of a stomach one could see from his bearing and gait that the General had spent his life in action and that what weight he currently carried was merely due to the onset of middle age. The Prince Regent by contrast looked exactly the arrogant, over-fed, spoiled eldest child that one might expect him to be. Such things of course could not be said to his face, but Miss Evershed was not left with a positive impression of the man. Behind him entered an entourage of men and women. Nobles and their wives, friends and hangers on and to Ruth's complete bemusement there amongst them was a man of stately bearing and carriage with balding blonde curls and the new full dress uniform that General Pearce had been wearing in the evenings of late since his return to London.

"What on earth is he doing here?" Carter exclaimed.

Ruth, too, had felt surprise at the General's presence but there was something in the tone of shock that Colonel Carter's voice bore that had Miss Evershed wondering if there was not something going on that she was missing. She was sure, quite sure, she heard Carter muttering insults at the Prince Regent under his breath. Something about 'the pompous brat' that forced Ruth to bite her lip to stop herself sniggering inappropriately.

As it was, with the Prince Regent's sudden presence, the acute consciousness of the state of her own dress and General Pearce's unexpected position within the Prince's entourage, Miss Evershed could hardly focus on the music. It was exquisite, it was sublime, but to her horroer as soon as the performance was over Colonel Carter was up out of his seat moving in General Pearce's direction with an expression of grave concern on his face. To the side of the room by one of the exits, Carter managed to corner the General demanding to know what was going on and Ruth was just catching up when she saw Carter put a gentle hand on the General's shoulder and quietly share his condolences.

Condolences.

Concern for the General immediately flooded Ruth's person and she rushed forwards only to have clearly disturbed their conversation for they both fell silent as soon as she approached.

"General Pearce," Ruth greeted him.

"Mis Evershed," Sir Harry nodded in reply. "Carter, I had no idea that by requesting your wife's services I would be disrupting your evening plans. Please allow me to apologise."

"There's nothing to apologise for, Sir. If there's anything I can do..."

"Thank you," Sir Harry nodded, glancing carefully at Miss Evershed and the rather elderly and outdated state of her dress. Sir Harry felt strongly that Miss Evershed deserved so much more and yet the woman could apparently be quite stubborn on matters of her household and finances. Perhaps Zoe could work on her. He could slip some money Zoe's way and then his god-daughter could use it to spoil Miss Evershed. She was a wily young thing, his god-daughter. Sir Harry felt confidant that she would come up with some scheme to spoil Miss Evershed. Such diverting thoughts, however, could hardly detract from the overbearing burden of grief that radiated from his person and Sir Harry was sure that Miss Evershed had noted the change in his person, going by the expression of concern on her face.

"Colonel Carter, I would be very grateful if you were able to discreetly inform Miss Evershed of the evening's events. You may tell her all you know of the matter. I trust her confidance."

Ruth looked from one to the other, desperate now to know what is going on.

"Please excuse my rudeness, Miss Evershed. I am not at liberty to talk on the matter with so many ears around."

"Of course."

"Well then. If you will both excuse me I must be getting back, for if I know you at all Miss Evershed I suspect you are keen to avoid an introduction to the man himself just yet and if I do not return with haste he will doubtless work his way over here."

"Oh God, you cannot possibly introduce me when I am in such a state. At least give me enough time to purchase a new dress!"

"Very well, Miss Evershed."

With a few last words of courtesy the General parted company from them and returned to the Prince's entourage. They could both see the Prince grilling the General on where he had been and to whom he had been talking and heard the words 'Colonel Carter' and 'Army' mentioned. Both privately hoped the matter would be dropped there. As it was, something about the Prince Regent's presence set Ruth on edge and every time she brushed someone, every time someone stood behind her or beside her in a particular manner she felt a spark of fear in her heart. Colonel Carter expressed his concern that she might not be well although she assured him that she was just out of sorts from the unexpected turn of the evening. Only when they were finally on their way home from the evening's concert and in the privacy of the Carter's town coach did Colonel Carter feel able to broach the subject of the sad events of the day.

"Mrs Pearce?"

"This afternoon. The General got word at his office, not long after you left I suspect. Childbirth."

"Then the General is a father, again?" Ruth asked with a gasp. Was it possible he had divorced his wife when she was heavy with his child?

"I did not enquire into the particulars but I have reason to suspect that the child is not in fact Sir Harry's progeny. I have been led to believe that Sir Harry and Jane had not been intimate for some years in the run up to their divorce."

"Dear God!"

"Indeed," Carter nodded solemnly. "You must excuse me for not informing you before. Fiona left at once to help sort out the household and I nearly didn't come at all had my wife not insisted. She felt the General would want as few people as possible to know until they had managed matters within the household somewhat. Catherine must be beside herself, Graham couldn't herd a flock of sheep never mind manage the servants and with the General so much in demand concerning Army business he has little time to organise everything himself."

"What of the child? I suppose it will go to the Foundling Hospital?"

"I understand one of the senior staff is planning on taking in the girl in so that, at least, is dealt with."

Unknown to Colonel Carter, the matter of the attack at the hands of Lord Hunter floated once more to the front of Ruth's mind but any idea she had previously considered of seeking the General's advice was immediately dismissed. It would not be fair, with so much else going on in his life at present, to place such an additional burden on him. Ruth resolved instead to stay silent on the matter and hope that, one way or another, everything settled as well as it may in the circumstances.

Certainly, there seemed to be enough to be going on in London Town at present to keep all the society gossips busy until Christmas.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The quite unexpected and shocking conversation with Colonel Carter on the coach ride home was followed up the next day by a letter from General Pearce, explaining that as a result of Jane's death he would be indisposed for some time for all but the most necessary of work and meetings and could she please continue with her work in his absence. Both Colonel Carter and Lance-Corporal Hunter as well as Tariq Masood of the East India Company would be at Miss Evershed's disposal should she require anything. General Pearce further added that due to the nature of the family's loss, it would not be proper for him to be out in company for the remaining for weeks of the season. Knowing, as she did now, that General Pearce's presence at these social events had an ulterior motive, Ruth wondered if there was an unspoken appeal between the lines for her to continue attending such events alone. The slightest of things, the wrong thing said in conversation or a particular noble's odd behaviour or plans for the summer could give away the person they were looking for. It was, indeed, a lot of responsibility.

Nearer lunch time, Miss Evershed's morning was once more interrupted, this time by Miss Reynolds who arrived full of excitement with a purseful of money. She announced to Miss Evershed that she had been gifted a full purse in order to buy a new dress with strict instructions that as Zoe's chaparone, Ruth would also require new clothing.

"Zoe, I couldn't possibly!"

"Just like you couldn't possibly accept any money for what you are doing for me? He really was quite severe about it, would brook no argument. Payment in kind, if you will."

There would be enough for two new evening dresses apiece and mourning clothes for Zoe. Miss Reynolds elected not to mention the name of her benefactor and decided to let Miss Evershed's assumption that the money had come from her guardian slide. As it was, the purse of money had in fact arrived courtesy of Zoe's Godfather, General Pearce, who had called on her earlier that morning with the sad news of Jane's passing and asking for the utmost discretion in the circumstances.

"You shall have to find some way of inducing her to accept the gift," Sir Harry pleaded. "I have not the time nor the inclination to argue past her stubbornness and pride. I know she would not countenance accepting such a gift from me directly."

"General, may I ask..." Zoe looked up at her Godfather carefully. His features were sad and tired, the warmth in his eyes only coming out when he spoke of Miss Evershed. "You do seem rather to care for Miss Evershed."

"Miss Reynolds, while I appreciate your interest is only well meant, I have quite enough going on in my life without being the subject of yet more idle gossip. I trust I can count on your discretion?"

Suitably chastened, Zoe had accepted the purse and the task and conveyed her condolences on the passing of Graham and Catherine's mother. Miss Reynolds had not kept company with her Godfather's children as much as she might have had circumstances been different, but Lady Pearce's behaviour along with Graham's drinking had made the prospect of regular social visits rather uninviting of late and Zoe could not help but feel rather guilty. Catherine had not been out in society all season. Between her parents divorce, her brother's reputation and her mother's confinement there had been little chance of her having a successful season at all and nor had she the advantage of a chaperone to assist her in presenting herself socially. Now her mother was dead, there would of course have to be a period of appropriate mourning before any marriage could take place, providing of course that the woman could even find a husband who would take her with such baggage. The thought occurred to her that the matter of Catherine Pearce's prospects could soon be Miss Evershed's problem if matters between her and General Pearce proceeded in the manner in which they had begun. It was obvious to everyone apart from Miss Evershed herself, apparently, that the General elevated her above all other women in both his opinion of her and his willingness to bend in the face of her opinion. General Pearce, after all, was a man with a reputation of bending for no one.

In the present however, the thought of an afternoon at the dressmaker's with the reward of marzipan sweets and tea afterwards was too good an inducement to let her thoughts linger on such serious matters. Having accepted the condolences of the household, General Carter departed once more, heading back to Lady Jane's residence in the hope that the wayward Graham had finally returned. The undertakers had already visited to removed the body and the funeral seemed to be planned for a private ceremony as soon as Malcolm could make it in from the country.

All the latest news of the Pearce household was shared over a bowl of soup for lunch and then they made ready to depart. Miss Reynolds was fortunate to have the services of her guardian's town coach that day. Having been conveyed to his club in the morning, he was not expected back until at least dinner time and Zoe had the rest of the day to herself.

Visiting a dressmaker's was not something that Ruth Evershed could honestly say she had ever enjoyed. There were endless decisions to be made. Fabrics chosen, priced and then rechosen. Styles considered then priced against fabrics; trims and colours and accessories; long sleeves and short sleeves; gloves and perfumes; pelisses, hats and spencers. The list of things to look at, compare, measure and weigh while constantly considering the overall cost of the outfit was exhausting. By the time they had gone through the various options for two sets of eveningwear apiece and mourning clothes for Zoe both ladies were exhausted. They broke with some relief for a cup of tea before allowing their measurements to be taken and then dressed up in loose swathes of fabric held together with so many pins Ruth was quite sure they were going to put pin cushions quite out of business. With the funeral surely happening any day now, Zoe had kept aside a small amount to hasten the making of the most urgent garments.

Afterwards they escaped the shop with grateful but satisfied sighs and hightailed it to the nearest marzipan shop for sweets and tea and found themselves pouring over their final choices. Miss Evershed found herself, in hindsight, regretting allowing Miss Reynolds to press her into choosing more expensive fabrics for her evening wear than she was sure Miss Reynolds or her guardian could really afford.

"It was unnecessary," Ruth insisted, "The whole point is that as chaparone I'm supposed to fade into the background, not outshadow you."

"But you looked so perfect in the midnight blue," Miss Reynolds gushed, "It shall look exquisite with white embroidery."

In front of them lay an array of small fruits, each perfection in miniature form and painted to look real.

"Expensive, you mean," Ruth chastised her. "Although I am starting to wonder at the not so subtle hints. Colonel Carter threatened to set his wife on me if I didn't agree to let him buy me new clothes. I still think its too much money."

"And I think, now that I am formally courting Daniel Hunter, it is only right that you share the joy with me. Do you know, I have asked him for a lock of hair."

Ruth smiled at the young lady, so full of hope. Any mention of Daniel Hunter, however, immediately made the chaperone think of the man's father. "Miss Reynolds, Zoe, you will be careful, won't you?"

"Careful? I'm not about to let him dishonour me before we are wed, if that's what you mean."

"No, no of course not. Well, not him anyway. The father, Lord Hunter. He isn't the sort of man who is used to taking no for an answer and you must promise me, please be careful around him."

"Oh, not you too!"

"What do you mean not me too? I'm only doing my job, Zoe."

"Daniel pins himself to my side any time we are near his father, wouldn't leave us alone for a moment. How on earth am I supposed to get to know his family if he won't let me talk to them? And then General Pearce said something about Lord Hunter when he called this morning-" Zoe cut herself off, but Ruth had already noticed.

"General Pearce called on you?"

"Only to..." Miss Reynolds sighed, "To congratulate me on the fact that I am now formally courting Lance-Corporal Hunter. He looks upon Daniel like a son, from what I can tell. He's probably been a better father to Daniel than he has to Graham. The General was just on his way to search for him."

"Why?" Ruth demanded, shocked, "Wherever would his son go at a time like this?"

"Every brothel and tavern in London," Zoe replied. "He's a drunk, you know. Hooked on laudenum too, I heard, and God knows what else. I pity the woman who has to step into Lady Jane's shoes and try to manage him."

Ruth bit her tongue and sipped her tea. With every passing day the General's life seemed to get more troubled. Was it any wonder he had clung on with such desperation to the hope of an acquaintence that had given him so much joy. And yet, there was another matter at issue here. The fact that Daniel Hunter seemed so watchful of Zoe around his father was at once a great relief and a great concern. Relief that he had obviously spotted the dangers his father posed, concern that those dangers were obviously present enough for Daniel Hunter not to trust his father in the slightest in Zoe's presence. Intriguing, and concerning. If only Ruth could talk to Zoe's distant guardian or better, General Pearce himself on the matter. He knew Daniel Hunter well and Lord Hunter too though Ruth knew they differed greatly in their politics and were not close.

Returning home after a long afternoon shopping, Ruth was glad to be able to have a seat and put her feet up for a while before she would once more have to leave to satisfy yet another invitation. While there were still balls and other social events almost every night, with Miss Reynolds now formally courting a gentleman who seemed to have every intention of marrying her, Ruth would have every excuse to bow out of further social events. However, the duty she felt to General Pearce obliged her to make an effort and it was only when General Pearce once more came to mind that Ruth realised she had not to much as sent a card or flowers nevermind called upon the family to condole with them. Within a few days however. it became obvious that the news was all over town and as she made her way to General Pearce's offices a few days hence, Miss Evershed called into a little stationer's shop and purchased a card, deciding she had left the matter long enough. Quite what one said to console the ex-husband of an unfaithful former wife or two children all but grown and long neglected by over two decades of war on the continent, Miss Evershed was not quite sure. As it was, she was shown up to General Pearce's office and continued the work she had left off. In order to aid General Pearce once he returned from mourning after Lady Jane's funeral, Miss Evershed decided to write up a summary of her work and along with her card, decided it was now the opportune time to call on the Pearce household and convey her sorrow at their loss.

In the morning room, General Pearce paced. The funeral was to happen tomorrow. Graham had been as wayward and wild as one might expect and Catherine had shut herself up in her room and would not even talk to him. Mrs Watts had engaged the wetnurse and had gone about taking care of the child while Sir Harry was caught up choosing the particulars for the funeral after the undertakers had arrived to retrieve the body. There was the wood of the coffin to choose, the lining, the adornments, the flowers in church and the place of the funeral and burial. Jane wished to be buried in the family plot on her own family's estate and so Sir Harry was in the process of making the arrangements for the body to be conveyed there after the funeral which would be nearby in the local parish church. The constant stream of wellwishers, Sir Harry was sure, had less to do with a sudden mass outbreak of grief at Jane's death amongst the wider circle of friend and acquaintances who had shunned them socially in the last few difficult years and more, it would seem, to do with the future marriage prospects of the General himself. The fact that so many of them insisted on bringing along single daughters when only sons would usually be present could not fail to go unnoticed and it turned the General's stomach somewhat and stoked his ire. Only thinking of Miss Evershed, her sharp wit and calm demeanour had any effect on him and he had taken to carrying her ribbon around with him in the pocket of his waistcoat and fingering it lightly when stressed by the endless stream of rather unwelcome mourners.

Worse, he had nothing with which to distract himself. Having finally conveyed the family news to the Prince Regent, His Royal Highness had given Sir Harry a week to sort out matters as necessary with the proviso that he must return to work immediately after the funeral, the result of which was that General Pearce had been all but banned from setting foot anywhere near the corridors of power until Jane was laid to rest but death or no, some matters of state could not wait and it made Harry anxious to be kept away. Morevoer, the rumours that Lance-Corporal Hunter relayed from the drinking taverns and coffee houses were not encouraging. Now that the war was over, there was many an ex-slaver who had whispered long-held hopes that the lucrative trade might be revived. With the war over, surely the provisions brought in during the war could now be lifted. Provisions that, in an aim to curtail the actions of France, had directly led to the end of the slave trade here. Although, some considered that William Wilberforce had had a somewhat underhanded scheme at play here all along. Nevertheless, the French ideals of liberte and egalite had been soundly trumped at Waterloo and the British Empire was more powerful and rich than it had ever been and largely on the backs of the slaves working the plantations of the great and powerful.

Such thoughts, however, General Pearce had to put out of his mind. Graham was upstairs, locked in his room. Sir Harry had once more been forced to send men out looking for him and his son had been discovered in flagrante delicto in a brothel house. Apart from a rather alluring courtesan known as Juliet, Sir Harry had always strived to stay away from the ancient profession. If Graham did not go blind from the drink he would surely go mad from the pox and yet getting his son to see the error of his ways was apparently an impossible task. The prospect of having to cut his son off and let him ruin his own life was looming larger with each day and yet, Sir Harry had no other heir and the thought of seeing his son subjected to abject poverty gave him great sorrow. Yet what else was he to do? Grahams friends were of no help, leading him astray as they had. His mother was no longer here to reprimand him and not even Catherine could seem to get through to him. Should he lock up his own son for his own protection? If he cut Graham off, the next notice he received might be from the debtors prison.

So deep in thought was he that Sir Harry was quite startled when the room opened and the poor footman who opened it had to bear the brunt of the General's severest glare.

"What?" General Pearce demanded.

"Another visitor, General Pearce. A Miss Evershed?"

"Thank you," General Pearce nodded at the man. "Show her in."

Seeing Miss Evershed again after so many days, after nothing but funeral arrangements and condolences and the endless complications of family politics was like breathing in fresh sea air for the first time in months. She wore a dark coloured dress as mourning protocol demanded and yet to Sir Harry Pearce, Ruth Evershed looked as beautiful as ever.

For Ruth Evershed, arriving at the address he had left for correspondence, she finally had an idea of the sort of man that he was when at home. It was a grand house, but tasteful. There was a woman's touch. Jane's influence no doubt.

Ruth had never seen him out of uniform. The black jacket and breeches he wore seemed rather severe after so many evenings spent next to the scarlet of his uniform coat. She curtseyed; he bowed.

They stood there, silently. Neither sure what to say.

"General-"

"Miss Evershed-"

Both spoke at once, and then cut off. Ruth looked at the man before her, confusion roiling within her. His eyes were deep pools of sorrow and swirling emotion. He looked, quite frankly, as if a warm embrace would do him the world of good but Ruth understood that men like General Pearce could not be seen to go around embracing random spinsters. Even spinsters they rather liked.

"Please excuse me, General Pearce, for not calling upon you and your family sooner. In truth I wasn't sure that it would be proper."

"Thank you, Miss Evershed."

With trepidation, Ruth stepped forwards. Sir Harry's manner was one of a man who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. Indeed, knowing what she did now about the information coming through his office, she suspected that the metaphor was more apt than anyone could possibly know. Looking for something to break the ice, Miss Evershed glanced around to examine the room and her eyes settled on a well-made sideboard upon which sat a series of small likenesses. The biggest, in the centre, was of a married woman who Ruth surmised from her dress and bearing could only be the lady of the house. This, then, was Lady Jane Pearce.

"I failed her, you know," Sir Harry said at last. This, Ruth was sure, really was not proper, to her his private thoughts and confessions, and yet with so few he could confide in or trust how could she deny the man before her one of the few opportunities he might ever have to unburden himself? "I failed her as a husband, I failed her as a father to our children. I failed her in our divorce, I left her to her shame. I have failed Catherine, I have failed Graham..." The General looked up from the floor and out the window, a long slow sigh escaping him.

"You were fighting a war," Ruth stepped closer, earnestly. "You're a hero, to so many people. A war hero. A tyrant is locked up because of men like you."

"A hero, am I? Men like me, Miss Evershed, do the most terrible of things in war. If you knew one tenth of what I have done in England's name you could not stand to look at me. No, Miss Evershed, I am no hero. I as good as killed her."

"General..."

"My philandering drove her away into the arms of other men. Were it not for me she would never have been in the situation that brought about her death and while I tore myself away for the sake of my work and peace of mind our daughter, Catherine, gave up everything for her. Gave up her own future, gave up her own prospects, her very place in society to care for her mother through her confinement. I was so outraged by Jane being with child by another man, I let her push me into agreeing to a divorce when I should have been standing by her. In the end it is those who have most to lose who suffer most, don't you think? And through it all not once did I wonder why Catherine was not out. Not once did I give thought to my daughter's marriage prospects or dowry."

"You are too harsh on yourself, General." Ruth insisted, "You have given years of your life for this country, for your king. For the Prince Regent. Napoleon swept through all of Europe, Russia, Egypt. He controlled the seas, sought dominion over the Atlantic, the Pacific, everywhere a man might go in the world they were in danger from Bonepart's greed and ambition and yet Great Britain stood tall, stood proud, stood fast against him. Defied him, General. Great Britain defied him and Great Britain felled him, because of men like you. You gave your life to the service of this country. Men like you, men like my father. Never, ever let me hear you be sorry for that."

General Pearce hung his head. "My life, yes. Their lives, Miss Evershed, were never mine to give." He saw her protesting and shook his head solemnly. "No, I think its proper that finally after so many years I feel the full weight of my failure as a man. You may say what you like about war, you know of such things, but all through our marriage Jane deserved so much more."

There were no more words that Ruth could think of to comfort him and so she did the only thing she could think of, she reached out and laid a hand gently on his.

The General took in a sharp breath. Turned over his hand, felt her fingers in his palm, brushed her knuckles with his thumb.

Abruptly the door was thrown open and they started, jumping apart.

"Father?"

The woman who entered was younger and while she bore some resemblance to Sir Harry, Ruth could see that the young lady took after her mother. Her late mother. This must be...

"Catherine. Allow me to introduce Miss Ruth Evershed. Miss Evershed, my daughter Catherine. Ruth is the daughter of the late Admiral Evershed. She has come to condole with us."

Catherine stood there looking from one to the other.

Ruth felt herself blush under the young woman's gaze, the rush of blood to the head that came with the excitement of the unexpected moment of intimacy with the General along with the embarrassment of being disturbed by the General's own daughter at such a time, Ruth suddenly felt the express urge to flee and never return. At length however, Ruth found the wherewithal to curtsey and Catherine curtseyed back.

"I see you have brought a card for us, Miss Evershed?" Catherine noted the papers in Ruth's hand. "You are too kind."

With a stilted jerk of the head Ruth nodded and handed over the card and the letter that she had entirely forgotten about, to General Pearce. "General Pearce, I have included a note as to the translation work I completed on the latest set of missives. I included only the most urgent information. The rest can of course wait until you return to work."

If anything, Catherine's already cold eyes upon seeing her father so close to this woman seemed to harden when the subject of General Pearce's work was raised and both woman waited as General Pearce opened the letter, read it and then folded it once more.

"Thank you. Miss Evershed, due to family circumstances I'm afraid I must ask something of you. You must update the Prince Regent as soon as possible. Tomorrow, at the very latest."

"I couldn't possibly..."

"You must, Miss Evershed," Sir Harry insisted and his once soft eyes hardened stubbornly until at Ruth's shoulders sagged. "It is..." His eyes slid sideways to Catherine. "It is Jane's funeral tomorrow."

"I'm sure the Palace would understand your being delayed," Ruth offered the suggestion, hoping to spare herself as much as to help the General.

"Yes, I imagine they would but tell me, Miss Evershed, knowing what you know would you be happy to let the information rest another few days until a more convenient time?"

Ruth bit her lip. Toyed with her purse. Eventually she acquiesced. "Subject to the requirements of the service," Ruth muttered.

"As flies to wanton Gods." Harry countered.

Miss Evershed considered that last thought to be a bit morbid, but then again the General had just lost the woman who had been his wife for a very many years. He had, she decided, something of a licence to be rather morbid given the circumstances and since now was the wrong moment to enter into a Shakesperean tit-for-tit, Ruth politely made her excuses and curtseyed to them, both feeling a whole mixture of emotions. It was wrong, surely, to feel so much elation at the confidences and intimacies that General Pearce seemed intent on sharing with her, when Lady Jane was not yet cold in the ground. Catherine seemed more distant and implacable than even the General himself on his worst days, she had said almost nothing since entering the room and her lack of emotion put Ruth on edge while the tales that Miss Reynolds had shared of Graham had her heart in her mouth. She wondered where hew as.

"If you will wait here, Miss Evershed, I shall write you a letter of introduction."

"General Pearce, how can I possibly meet with His Royal Highness?! I haven't a thing to wear that is worthy of the Prince's court!"

"May I give you a piece of advice, Miss Evershed?"

Ruth looked at Catherine nervously. She felt they were rather excluding the General's daughter by the tenor of the conversation, but the General seemed intent on getting to the end of the matter. Cautiously, Ruth nodded. "You may," She said primly.

"The Prince Regent has something of a wandering eye. Knowing you as I do, I suspect you would rather avoid being the subject of it. Therefore your style of dress is liked to help your cause rather than hinder it. Also, given that you are attending court on a matter of urgent State business, may I propose that in this instance something demure and scholarly would, in fact, be most appropriate. Catherine, would you be so good as to sit with Miss Evershed for a moment. I believe the nearest writing things are in the Library. I shan't be a moment."

With a brief bow and courtsey to each other, General Pearce left. Ruth was left rather dumbfounded. She wondered what the General's daughter made of all this but a quick glance at the young woman was met with a cold stare. Suddenly things seemed incredibly awkward. It was quite clear what Catherine thought of the overly familiar way in which they conversed.

"Miss Pearce-" Ruth began.

"You need not explain yourself. I am familiar with my father's ways though I would ask that you give the family peace to grieve."

Ruth toyed with her sleeves. Twisted her purse strings. She knew what Catherine thought, could see it very clearly in his eyes. Staring down at her hands throughout a long silence, Ruth felt that she really must finally say something and found herself launcing into an explanation of her life. "My mother died when I was eleven."

"I'm sorry."

Ruth smiled sadly. "My father was in the navy. He'd always struggled with promotions, got the bad placements. Wrong family, wrong upbringing. Wrong schooling, wrong ancestors. At that time, being an Officer was all about breeding and they thought he didn't have any but year after year he fought his way up. He was quite old by the time he attained the rank of Admiral and still not very wealthy by military standards, in addition to which he had incurred some debts over the years..." Ruth paused for thought. "After mother died, father took me with him. Mother never wanted to go but he asked me and I did so I went around the world on his ships. I saw the service first hand, the war, and I was taught what the officers taught the boys and the midshipmen. I learned the stars, I learned to navigate at sea, I learned the accurate use of a chronometer to work out one's position on the surface of the earth. I learned mathematics and the work of Sir Isaac Newton and I took to all of it so naturally that when I was in London my father got me a tutor and I learned Latin and Greek. Soon, with each new voyage I would purchase new books and learn a new language. It never occurred to me that I was losing out, that I was missing something by not having a woman's education and in truth, when I came of age there were some proposals but I was so devoted to my father and by that point I had become so invaluable to him that he was unwilling to part with me to the drunks and scoundrels who offered suit...and somehow as all my friend settled down one by one I spent more and more time in my father's study as this war dragged on and on. Russian, French, Spanish, Italian...suddenly my skill with languages was of great need. Coordinating a war with so many countries and languages involved is no simple matter. Father would get letters from all over Europe, from military leaders and aristocrats and other members of the allliances against Napoleon. So he would often ask for my assistance, you see, and over time we fell into a routine. I would translate his correspondence and when his eyes began to fail I would read it aloud to him and he would dictate his letters to me. By the time my father passed last year I had long since reconciled myself to a life of spinsterhood and as an older woman with no other obligations, I sometimes oblige friends and acquaintences by chaperoning their daughters to social engagements. I was chaperoning Miss Zoe Reynolds one night when your father walked into the room and we had an introduction. I am not what you think I am, Miss Pearce. I have no designs on your father and I know what it is to lose a parent. To lose both parents. "

Somehow this comment made Catherine Pearce snort in a most unladylike manner but Ruth could see that the was at least listening and so continued.

"Yes, well...once your father understood that I already had some experience with military communications he asked if I would consider assisting him as I had assisted my father. I am aware of your father's reputation Miss Pearce and while I will own that your father has been a very good friend to me at a most lonely time in my life, I would be mortified if there was any misunderstanding about the nature of our relationship. Oh God, I said 'mortified'...and your mother's just died...I didn't mean..." Ruth fretted, "I mean I did, obviously, but not...and now I've taken the Lord's name in vain..."

Somehow, completely unwittingly, the honestly of Ruth's behaviour which could not be faked was the thing which won Catherine Pearce around. With a sniffle and a teary smile at Miss Evershed's nervous antics, Catherine reached out and laid a hand softly on the writhing fingers in Ruth's lap. "You need not worry yourself, Miss Evershed, I know what you mean. Its quite alright. So, you assist my father?"

"He has particular trouble with his Greek," Miss Evershed confessed, "But you didn't hear that from me."

Catherine tilted her head, paused, and almost smiled. "Tell me, Miss Evershed, would you like to come to tea sometime?"

Miss Evershed was taken aback. "I...me?"

"I should dearly like to hear of life at sea. Father doesn't speak at all about the war and I have spent all my life at this house in London and with father being away so much and then the divorce and mother's confinement...I should like some new company and I confess I find your company rather more agreeable than I had initially anticipated."

"I should like that very much, Miss Pearce," Ruth agreed, a feeling of sudden calm coming over her at the fact that they seemed to have come to an understanding of sorts.

"I long to see the world you know. To see the war. To travel," A distant look came over Miss Pearce's face. It was a look Ruth recognised. It was the look a naval officer got when he had been too long on land and without even realising she was doing it, Ruth Evershed began going through her mental list of eligible naval officers. Most of them were like brothers to her, the thought of marrying them wasn't appealing in the slightest but Miss Pearce might have other tastes. Ruth had the feeling that Miss Pearce would make a very good Captain's wife.

Just as thoughts of mourning periods and officers and marriage prospects were beginning to form in Miss Evershed's head, Sir Harry returned and looked both surprised and suspicious by the sudden apparent closeness between Miss Evershed and his daughter. "Everything alright?" He asked abruptly.

Ruth rose from her seat and approached him, "Perfectly, General. I was only consoling with your daughter. I know what it is to lose a mother, as you know. But I am taking up your time and you must have many things to do to prepare for tomorrow."

"Thank you," The General said and then reached into the pocket of his coat brought out a folded letter and, Ruth was surprised to note, a familiar white ribbon which had caught on his hand and which was quickly stuffed back into the pocket. Not, however, before Miss Evershed spotted it and she could tell Sir Harry knew from the slight pink tinge to his cheeks. Tension hung in the air between them at its appearance, the things unsaid, the rejected proposal, the oppressive weight of grief. Silently Sir Harry sighed and with wide, sad eyes he held out the letter. Ruth could not help but notice that once again the hazel eyes which seemed so cold and closed off to everyone else showed every ounce of love and sorrow and yearning in his heart when they looked at her and Ruth could not help but meet his eye as she reached out towards the General's hand for the thick piece of writing paper, carefully folded and signed by his own hand. He reached out and met her halfway, placing the letter in her palm and cradling her fingers. Why was it that grief over Jane only seemed to pull him closer to this woman who had so soundly rejected him?

"If there is anything I can do..." Ruth offered.

"Thank you, Ma'am but for the most part everything is in place. I don't suppose you've heard from your cousin Malcolm? I am expecting him to conduct the funeral tomorrow however, it seems he has not yet arrived."

"No, I have not heard from him." Miss Evershed thought this a bit peculiar and hoped Malcolm was all right. Knowing Malcolm he was probably embroiled in something and would turn up ten minutes before the ceremony sprouting apologies for his tardiness.

"Well then, nevermind. If he does not turn up the local minister will just have to do. Thank you for calling on us, Miss Evershed," Sir Harry spoke softly, "Your visit means more than you know."

Ruth squeezed his forearm and he let go and then taking the letter and making her excuses she left them alone to their grief.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter requires warnings for rape, violence and character death.

Chapter 6

The funeral took place on a contrary summer day that was so changeable most of the mourners were in turns too hot, too cold and too wet. General Pearce stood with his son and daughter in the front pew of Jane's local church with Malcolm, thankfully, overseeing the proceedings and while they went through the familiar rituals of the Anglican funeral rites, Ruth Evershed was on her way to the palace, dressed in the most scholarly manner that her rather limited wardrobe would allow. Clutched in her hand was a letter from a Knight of the Realm and one of the Prince Regent's most trusted Generals.

Arriving at the Palace everything felt very grand. The footmen, the livery, the horses. Everywhere there was gold leaf and light, rococo scrolls and fine sculptures and painted porcelain. She wondered how he could afford it with the level of debt the Prince Regent was said to have incurred through his lifestyle. Then again, there the rumoured increased in his allowance from Parliament might cover it – if only life was so simple for the rest, Ruth thought!

Upon arrival at the Palace she had presented the letter which seemed to have been taken extremely seriously. As a lonely spinster, Miss Evershed had half expected to be laughed out onto the street because in spite of the import of the situation, she wasn't entirely sure she would be believed Instead, she found herself escorted by a soldier through a series of rooms, passing great portraits by Masters like Rembrandt and Sir Anthony van Dyck. Ruth's head continued to watch each painting as she moved along behind her escort before whipping to the next in wonder.

Eventually they stopped outside a pair of great doors which were opened by waiting footmen in the same household livery.

"This is the Music Room, Miss Evershed," The soldier announced, "It is requested you wait here. I understand His Royal Highness will be here presently. I shall be right outside the door should you need anything."

Ruth Evershed nodded and curtseyed but as soon as the door closed her gaze was entirely captured by the magnificent spread of garden outside the window. Her eyes took in the mature trees, the rose beds, the expanse of lawn. She was quite away with the fairies when the noise of the door opening startled her and she spun around to find an older gentleman with grey-white hair and a dignified bearing enter the room.

"My Lord of Liverpool?"

"Miss Evershed. I cannot tell you how relieved I was to hear it was you that General Pearce had engaged to assist him. I cannot tell you how impressed I was with everything you contributed every time I met with your father. Please accept my condolences for his death, it was a great loss."

Ruth struggled to get her mind around the unexpected appearance of the man before her. Of course it made sense that Lord Liverpool, as the Prime Minister, might be aware of events but to be met with him personally as well as the Prince Regent, if His Royal Highness indeed arrived, was a shock to get her mind around and it was difficult for a long time to form any comprehensible words. "I had not expected...General Pearce led me to expect the Prince Regent..."

"The Prince will no doubt be here anon. When I heard, however, that it was the smartest woman I ever set eyes upon who was assisting Pearce as you once did your father I wanted to be here. Quite apart from everything else, Miss Evershed, The Prince Regent needs guidance and while of course there is of course the security of the Regency to consider there are also important matters of Government at stake here. Matters of which, doubtless, even you are not aware."

"Doubtless," Miss Evershed echoed, "Tell me my Lord, why is it that as soon as Napoleon is dealt with, almost every officer I know is suddenly on edge instead of rejoicing at our victory."

"Because there is no victory, Miss Evershed. If only we truly lived in a time when war was at an end once the leaders were removed. Alas, great empires do not sleep so easily. France is on the brink of declaring war again in spite of Napoleon's exile. Elba is not as far as we would like it to be and it is imperative he stays were he is until our plans can come to fruition. There are few we can trust on the matter, it was very clever of Pearce to consider engaging a woman. I commend him."

"Plans? The General is engaged in counter-espionage, is he not?"

"Indeed but you yourself have always possessed a mind most remarkably suited to these endeavours, Miss Evershed. I met with your father often enough to know much of your abilities in this respect. You must understand, with the war now over we suddenly have a huge military at the ready and battle-trained here in Europe, we have the most efficient and effective naval fleet in the world and we an ocean between us and possibly the greatest territory our empire ever held. Since the events of 1812 we have been held back in our attempts to limit American expansion by the need to fight on the Iberian Peninsula. Now, finally, we are in a position to achieve our objective of regaining the Americas."

A sudden rush of cold came over Ruth. They couldn't be serious. She had known this was about America but what Lord Liverpool was alluding to was beyond her wildest, most terrible dreams.

"My Lord, Prime Minister, America is an independent country now," Ruth said, hardly able to believe what she had just heard. No wonder General Pearce was so alarmed about any doubt as to the allegiance of the one they hunted.

"And now we have the military capability once more to regain what is rightfully ours. The war which began in 1812 can be ended now, with victory in our grasp. There are separate plans afoot to treat with the United States later in the year and the military action over the summer, if successful, will give us a much greater bargaining power at the negotiations. Ghent has been proposed as a possible neutral site but whatever the outcome, an American spy in London at this point would be disastrous. Nothing can be allowed to leak before the invasion."

"Invasion?"

"It is, typically, how one regains another continent Madam. It is a four-pronged attack: New York, New England, New Orleans and up the Mississippi and finally the main force which shall be landed at Chesapeake Bay to launch a direct attack on Washington D.C. itself. If we can capture the Capitol the war will be over in a matter of months. You can imagine the reaction, therefore, when Pearce revealed at our last meeting that you believed our local leak was American instead of French."

Ruth sat down sharply. "Good God!"

"Quite," the Prime Minister replied and clasped his hands behind his back.

"When is the invasion to happen?"

"As soon as may be, Miss Evershed, therefore I can only suppose that Pearce has sent you with more information. Any update you can provide for His Majesty's Government is desired most urgently and were it not for the absence of the Prince Regent who insists on being kept up to date with all matters..." The Prime Minister cut himself off as the door began to open, the footman made the announcement and in walked the Prince Regent.

Afterwards, Miss Evershed found she could not have been more grateful for her father's distance acquaintance in former years with the current Prime Minister. Lord Liverpool had saved Ruth from many an inappropriate comment by the Prince Regent and ensured that she was personally escorted home in his own carriage, unaware of the dark figure hiding in the trees across the street watching her every move.

Some distance away across London, Lance-Corporal Daniel Hunter sat in the gloomiest corner of a dockside tavern listening in on the hushed conversation that was happening at the next table. One of the men was a rough sort, an ex-sailor perhaps from his bearing and clothing. The other a more educated, refined, better sort who seemed to be in charge.

"Nah, she's his mistress, I'm sure of it," the rough one informed.

"Pearce? You're sure?"

"Absolutely...she been visiting his offices and half o' London seen 'em at balls all cosied up like two love birds an' she got 'er own house an' everyfink."

"Well we've known for some time that he's the one they've tasked with the job. A spinster you say?"

"Mmmm. Admiral's daughter. Smart one, hooking a man like Pearce. Course her being so close, my guess is she knows somefink and even she don't, which she do..."

"She's the leverage," The balding white man smiled darkly.

"Precisely. Course, don't know what she was doing at the palace."

The educated one's whole demeanour changed, he sat up sharply, his eyebrows drew together and then he leaned in and lowered his voice. "The Palace?"

"I just followed her there just just now before meeting you. Stayed an hour then went home in some fancy carriage."

"Dammit, Pearce must be closer than we thought."

"Closer to what?" The rough one asked.

"Never you mind." A purse of coins was brought out and laid on the table. "Thank you for your time, Sir. That will be all. Our business is concluded."

"You said I was following 'er til the end o' the monf," The rough one grumbled. "I needs the pay o' that, Sir."

"Your pay in full," The educated one handed over the purse which the rougher man weighed in his hand before finally nodding.

"Alright," He agreed. "An' if there's anyfink else you need...?"

"You will be the first to know," The educated one assured him and then stood up and took his leave of the man.

Danny wanted to go straight to General Pearce and warn him that Ruth was in danger. He didn't know the full story of what Sir Harry was up to but he did know that there was concern about foreign spies being active in London and much of the talk on the street and in the coffee houses was a new concentration on the conflict with the United States now that the military was no longer need on the Peninsula. Danny had been trying to work it all out, to put all the pieces together. He knew that the United States was neutral in the war between Britain and France, that the United States was pro-slavery and France was anti-slavery, that the United States and France had been trading throughout the war with Napoleon, much to Britain's consternation. He knew that Britain had been at war with both countries, that a new conflict had started in 1812 over territory and other things, knew that the United States was unhappy about ships flying their flags being captured by British privateers. He also knew that there was a lot of unemployed men flooding into London as a result of the end of the war and that merchants, investors and others were concerned about the political and economic uncertainty of peace after decades of conflict. There were so many different interests it was difficult to work out what the full picture was. All along he'd been told to watch out for French espionage and yet increasingly the Government and the Military seemed to be focused on the United States. It was all as clear as mud. Yet one thing stuck in his mind – the purse of money. The slimey white man who was clearly the more senior of the two had paid off the man Danny had been following, the man who had been tasked with watching Miss Evershed. In Danny's experience that meant only one thing...

Waiting until the two men parted ways, Danny downed the rest of his drink and followed the more educated – and he guess more senior – figure out of the tavern and onto the street. He had been planning on attending a meeting of the Sons of Africa that evening but it looked at the moment as if the events of the afternoon were going to overtake his plans. He needed to know what this man was up to and how much he knew.

Outside it was already getting dark. The docks and the whole area around it stank of raw sewage, urine, vomit and animal faeces. Goods of every sort were being loaded and unloaded, moved around on carts. Coffee and tea, animals and plants, tropical hard woods and every sort and type of thing one could imagine surrounded him but Daniel Hunter's eyes were not on the people and things around him, they concentrated on the figure about some thirty yards ahead who weaved his way through the crowds and alleyways of the area until he arrived at a main street from where he was able to flag down a hackney cab. Danny had a bit more trouble flagging down a cab himself. It took the assurance of a flash of the cash to get the driver to agree to take him as a passenger and follow the cab that was now rounding the corner at the other end of the street.

The route taken was roundabout, unnecessarily complicated and the man switched cabs twice before finally dismounting a ten minute walk away from his final destination, a nondescript lower-middle-class street of modest dwellings with which Daniel was all too familiar. He had an extensive knowledge of his father's properties and as it grew dark, Daniel stood on the street corner in shock as the man he had listened to in the tavern disappeared into the very house on the street that happened to be owned by his own father, Lord Hunter.

The shock was all-consuming. His own father? Could it be? Daniel had long known that his father held views that he himself opposed. His father supported slavery, for one and here in London, Lord Hunter held a large number of properties that he managed with a malice and avarice that was significantly detrimental to the poor tenants who were unfortunate enough to occupy them. However this property, Danny was aware, was one that his father kept for illicit liaisons and meetings that he wished to keep quiet. Private audiences with people that Lord Hunter did not wish to have seen arriving at his own, rather grand, London residence. The thought that his father might be paying men to spy on General Pearce was something Danny struggled to get his head around. He thought of General Pearce's warning that evidence suggested the man they were looking for was not spying for the French, as originally thought, but for the Americans.

After the slave trade had been banned in 1807, Lord Hunter had largely removed himself from the merchant shipping business and instead purchased vast estates in the United States that exported cotton to the mills in the North of England and all of this in addition to the slave-run sugar plantations in the Caribbean. His transatlantic trading interests had taken a huge blow financially when the slave trade had been abolished and Lord Hunter had instead decided to invest more heavily in the United States which may now, also, be under threat. His influence there was growing and the profitability of his landholdings there depended on the very fact that the United States was a pro-slavery independent country that would not challenge his private interests. Yet Lord Hunter had always been loyal to Britain, using his own power and influence with Parliament and the Government to further his own business interests. Yet peace had not been in his interest and the current government was a Conservative one instead of the Whig government his father would have favoured. Besides which, his ruthless style of business in recent years had isolated many former friends on Threadneedle Street.

A cold feeling came over Danny and in the next moment he pushed himself off the wall and ran, his heart thumping and blind panic filling his senses. His mind whirled faster than he could keep up with as he tried to grasp the prospect of his father's behaviour. He didn't have the whole picture but the pieces that were coming together were unthinkable and it was with a terrible feeling of dread that Danny waved down a cab and ordered it to go straight to General Pearce's current residence.

The funeral had been a sombre affair. Quiet and small, attended by a small group of select family and friends. Miss Reynolds had been good enough to show up, chaperoned by her guardian. The funeral furnishers had done an admirable job, Malcolm had been as steady and reassuring as Sir Harry had needed him to be and the small gathering of men at the graveside saw to it that she was laid to rest in the proper manner. Afterwards the funeral breakfast went on long enough for everyone to get a moment to share their condolences and let their coats dry out from the earlier rain.

When everyone finally departed for the day, Graham was flat out on a love seat in the drawing room, Catherine was sitting quietly tinkling away at the piano and Sir Harry sat back with a glass of strong whiskey and took his necktie off as he listened to her play. With many hours to kill indoors Catherine had become really quite good and when she finished he looked over at her from where he sat and told her it was lovely.

"Thank you, father."

"I used to like it when you called me Papa."

"That was before," Catherine said simply.

"Ah, yes. Before I distanced myself, before I divorced your mother, before she died birthing another man's child. Before you saw her through her confinement...I suppose there is a lot of 'before' there."

Catherine listened to him say his piece and then turned back to play once more. She got three notes in before Sir Harry interrupted.

"I owe you an apology, Catherine."

She stopped and stared at the music. Neither of them liked this sort of conversation. Quite honestly, part of her simply didn't want to hear it but another part was curious enough to wonder what he was about to say.

"My disputes with your mother, god rest her soul, and the difficulties in our private lives – not to mention behaviour on both our parts which does neither of us any credit..." Sir Harry paused and stared at his tumbler of spirit. "What I am trying to say to you is that I haven't been the father to you that you deserved and I intend for that to change, going forwards, and starting right now."

The crashing sound of someone charging through the doors at great speed interrupted their quiet discussion and the awkwardness of the moment was immediately replaced with alarm as Lance-Corporal Hunter almost fell through the doors in his haste to report to the General.

"Hunter?"

"General, you must come at once. Miss Evershed is in danger. I was following a man that I knew undertook casual work around the docks. He met with his paymaster in a tavern whereupon he was paid off. General, they knew of her connection to you, they knew she had been to the Palace!"

Sir Harry jumped up at once and stormed out into the hall. "You there! Fetch me my sword and my boots! You!" He pointed at a hall boy, "Run to the stable and saddle my horse."

"Hunter?"

"I got a cab."

"And one for Hunter too," Sir Harry shouted after the boy. Immediately he went in the opposite direction towards the front door of the house, telling another male servant to lock up the house after him, to have the male servants armed and his family protected. Within minutes they were galloping out the gate, the metal shoes on the horses hooves sending sparks out across the granite cobbles of the street as they charged at full tilt in the direction of Ruth's home, hoping against hope that they were not yet too late.

Across town Ruth Evershed, however, remained in blissful ignorance of the remarkable events of the evening and found that after such an important meeting and with such a lot to take in, she was glad of a rare night in to herself with no obligations to anyone else. The beautiful music of the concert she had enjoyed with Colonel Carter still lingered in her head and she found herself humming the main theme as she sat down in the drawing room with a small glass of sweet wine that was left over from dinner and let her thoughts wander off as she sipped away at her drinking, finally giving herself the time that she needed to process the events of the day.

She had been to the Palace.

She had met the Prime Minister.

Great Britain was secretly invading the United States of America. Even as she sat here ships were approaching that continent's shores with the full intention of engaging in military action. Knowing what she did about strategy Ruth had to wonder about the wisdom of such a campaign, for while it was true that they might initially gain some ground, it had to be said that in the long run the United States had the home advantage and General Pearce for one certainly believed that the threat from Boneparte was not over.

But such thoughts were giving her a headache and so Miss Evershed resolved to think of happier things. Her pet cat, Fidget, appeared then from the kitchen and jumped up onto her lap. In spite of the inevitability of getting cat hair on her gown she let the furry bundle climb over her and settle on her knee while Ruth wondered if Sir Harry liked cats or if he perhaps preferred dogs. Her mind thought of the sharp tailored lines of the new uniform he had been wearing at the concert. Of the sombre tones of the dark mourning clothes. His soft eyes, his plush lips.

The way Sir Harry had stared at her as he proposed to her.

Ruth slammed the glass down and stood up sharply. This was going nowhere.

The noise must have wakened Beth for Ruth heard a noise in the kitchen and half expected her maid to come running in any moment to check that everything was alright. As the noises grew louder however, Ruth grew concerned until there was a great crash likes a pile of pots and pans falling and a terrible pained cry. At once Ruth picked up her skirts and dashed out of the drawing room, hastening to the kitchen where she threw open the door and came to a standstill at the sight of a bloodied cutlass pointing straight at her.

"Scream and I'll make it slow," The man warned her. A sailor, or an ex-sailor. Ruth supposed there were many of them unemployed now. He was smelly and unwashed, dark lank hair and nondescript worn clothes with features that were instantly forgettable. Even staring him in the face Ruth wasn't sure she would pick him out in a crowd.

"Beth?"

"Your maid is dead, Evershed."

Ruth gasped and a hand fled to her mouth as she caught sight of a flash of blonde hair and a growing pool of blood on the floor.

"Come quietly, now, and you won't end up like her."

Beyond the man, his henchmen were already undoing their trousers, cackling with glee at the prospect of defiling Beth's still-warm body. Ruth opened her mouth to object but the sharpened look in her assailant's eye and the rapid approach of the tip of the blade made her reconsider her choice.

"I'll come quietly," Ruth told them. The stain on her conscience as she walked out on three men preparing to take turns on Beth's lifeless body would stay with her forever.

"Great," The man announced. "Best leave them to it. Even cold cunt's a blessing after six months at sea. Nothing but cabin boys arses to keep yer 'appy."

The man grabbed her by the arm and Ruth Evershed felt physically repulsed by his touch, but what could she do? 'Survive' a little voice told her. She needed to survive, she needed to get some sort of help.

"Now, while they're all busy. You and I are going for a little ride," The man grinned a stinking gap-toothed grin.

It was said the Royal Navy ran on rum, sodomy and the lash but Ruth could only surmise that whatever ships this man sailed on had been run rather differently that the ships her father oversaw. Yet she had no more time to think about which aspect of the man abducting her concerned her most. Without so much as a shawl to stay warm Ruth was manhandled out the front door and onto the street where a half-starved pony hitched up to a decrepit trap waited some distance down the street. The man was dragging her now and seeing her chance, Ruth began resisting. It was dark but not late. Someone might see. One of the neighbours. She struggled, shouting for him to let go.

The man gripped her harder, pulling her towards the starving animal.

"Come on you dozy cow! Don't make me hit you, you fucking..."

"No! HELP! STOP!"

Suddenly, far off, the sound of rapid hoofs sounded faintly and getting louder. Getting closer. Ruth's abductor seemed to get desperate, grabbing her and trying to wrestle her into submission.

Looking around frantically, the realisation of what had happened to Beth all of a sudden hit her full force and she cried and begged and screamed to be let go.

And then they were there. Hoof beats sparking off the cobbles, red coats and swords. General Pearce in full-throated blood-lust charged down the street drawing his sword and sliced the man clean in two.

For Harry, the sight of Miss Evershed in so much danger incited a tsunami of red-mist the likes of which he had not experienced since leaving battle. Across the way, Lance-Corporal Hunter pulled up to a halt at Ruth's door, jumped off the horse and ran in on his own, sword at the ready. The sound of steel on steel, the cries of men being cut down drifted out onto the street but Harry had eyes only for Ruth. Seeing the immediate danger gone, Harry dismounted his horse and sheathed his sword as he tentatively approached her. The thrum of adrenaline was fading now and concern for her welfare slammed to the fore. Ruth's face was pale, spattered with blood, she stuttered unable to speak. Her hands shook.

Quietly, gently, Sir Harry put a hand on her shoulder. "He's gone."

"You..."

"I killed him."

Ruth nodded but still seemed completely overwhelmed by the moment and buried her face in her hands. Sir Harry could not help but notice she was outside without any sort of shawl or spencer and the clear night sky was depleting all the warmth of the day as the temperature rapidly dropped. At once he unbuttoned his uniform jacket and draped it around her shoulders and she gathered it around herself, snuggling into its warmth.

Sir Harry didn't want to leave her, but he needed to check how Lance-Corporal Hunter was getting on in the house. Tentatively he put a hand on her back, just enough to guide her in the direction of the property and stopped outside the neighbouring property – close enough that he felt he could protect her but not so close that she would be in danger. Carefully he took the reigns of his horse and placed them in her grip. He could tell she was in shock and apart from not wanting the gelding to run away, Sir Harry felt – apparently correctly – that it would give Ruth something to focus on. As soon as she held the reigns in her hand Miss Evershed gravitated towards the horse, petting it and taking comfort from its presence.

"Miss Evershed, I'm going to go inside for a moment. If you feel even for a moment you're in danger take my horse and ride as hard as you can to seek help."

Miss Evershed nodded. She opened her mouth to try to speak but couldn't seem to get her mind and her body to act as one.

"Its the shock," Sir Harry explained. "I promise, I'll be right back." He wanted to stay, stay and look after her, but Danny had charged in all on his own and now all was quiet. General Pearce had a duty as the superior officer to assess the situation and find out what had gone on. He entered the house with his sword drawn, finding the drawing room empty and after checking the cupboard under the stairs he progressed towards the kitchen at the back of the ground floor.

The scene that met him was a bloody one. The kitchen looked as horrific as any domestic kitchen had ever looked. The ragged remains of the maid's clothing lay scattered around her defiled body. Three men lay in various states of death or dying, their swords on the floor. One was nude from the waist down, his genitals cut off while Hunter stood over him watching the light fade from his eye.

Once all the bodies had stopped moving, the General spoke. "Stand down, Hunter," Sir Harry pronounced quietly.

"He deserved it."

"Lower your sword," Sir Harry said firmly. There was a certain manner in which men had to be dealt with after battle. "The threat is gone."

After a long tense moment, Lance-Corporal Hunter did indeed lower his sword and then took a moment to look about the room before sheathing it in its scabbard.

"General Pearce," Hunter addressed his superior, "Are we invading America?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"The taverns by the docks. The man I followed tonight, the man who was talking of Miss Evershed, I followed him to a property my father uses for illicit meetings. His estates in the United States of America are extensive. He invested a lot of money in cotton after the slave trade was banned. His property in Louisiana is particularly extensive."

"Dear God." General Pearce rubbed his forehead vigorously. The thought of such a prominent man turning on his own country was unthinkable. "Lord Hunter? Danny are you sure?"

Danny shrugged, "It makes sense. He must have known that an end to the war on the continent would mean military resources being freed up to fight the Americans. The flags provision dented his shipping profits and then the ban on the trading of human slaves put paid to that enterprise altogether, so he made investments instead in the United States. Now the peace threatens his landholdings and property there."

"And if we restarted the war with the French our forces across the Atlantic would have to pull back. The question is, who is he working for? The French or the US?"

"My father works for himself, General Pearce, but there is little he will not do for money."

"And yet, you rely on this money," Sir Harry pointed out.

"To my shame," Lance-Corporal Hunter agreed. "Until this point I have and yet, as the son of a slave how long can I go on living off his wealth knowing from where it comes?"

"Well there's nothing more we can do tonight."

Danny opened his mouth to counter but Sir Harry cut across his imminent objection. "We have no evidence against him that will stand up in a court of law, Lance-Corporal. I'm relying on you, Danny. Now more than ever. Are you with me on this?"

At length, Danny nodded. "If not for myself, for Miss Reynolds."

"Good." General Pearce turned his back on his room and began walking slowly toward the front door where their horses waited. "Now, I need you to go to William Towers. Tell him everything that has gone one here, insist that he sees you. He will sort it all out. Spend the night at the barracks and commence work as normal in the morning. I will need to get the house keys from Miss Evershed and take her to a place of safety. Tell General Towers I will return at midnight with the keys once Miss Evershed is settled and ask him to send men. We must get the house here cleaned up tonight."

They had by this point reached the front door of the house which General Pearce opened, allowing Danny to exit, and then followed suit closing the door behind him. Danny waited for his commanding officer and then when he had given his salute to his greatest mentor, Danny Hunter dashed down the step, mounted his horse and rode off into the night.

Outside Miss Evershed was exactly where Sir Harry had left her, clearly getting to the stage where she needed to sit down and have a strong glass of brandy. He sat her down on the step and after speaking to her in soft, gentle voices was able to ascertain that the keys were always carried by the maid and it was Harry's grim task to go and fetch them. Reluctantly, Sir Harry realised he really ought to follow protocol in ensuring the building was clear of all people and threats before locking it and so somewhat reluctantly, Sir Harry found himself going upstairs and entering the rooms one by one to ensure no one was there. The last room was her bedroom and he paused, glancing briefly around. He wondered idly if he should collect a few of her things but he considered it too great a breach of her privacy and at length Sir Harry concluded that anything further Ruth required, he could fetch when he returned with at midnight to clean the place up.

Sir Harry stepped out of the room and closed the door. Everything seemed to be in order and so he began locking the place up before heading outside and straight to Miss Evershed.

"Miss Evershed, you can't stay here tonight. Might I suggest that I accompany you to Colonel Carter's residence?"

General Pearce could only stare at the small feminine hand that appeared on his forearm. Dressed as she was in his coat, with her hair falling down and her eyes stressed and tearful, Sir Harry concluded she had never looked more beautiful; he had never loved her more than in this moment.

"Let me stay with you, Sir Harry. I know it isn't proper but I wouldn't feel safe with anyone else."

Using his forename was surely something she knew would make him bend to her will, but even had Miss Evershed not done so, it was clear to General Pearce that Miss Evershed was not about to let this thought go and as he thought on the problem he felt his heart slowly give way and a plan carefully began to form. He could, he supposed, take her to his lodgings if he wasn't spending the night there. His landlady could look after her and she would be safe enough there while he cleared things up with the necessary Generals and government ministers.

General Pearce left her only long enough to check over his horse before mounting the gelding and pulling Miss Evershed up so she was seated sideways in front of him. Her arms wound around his neck and the hand that was not holding the reins held her fast at the waist, ensuring that she did not fall off. The fact that she apparently trusted him as she had never done before warmed his heart and the feel of her body against his, holding her so close in his arms felt more right than he had the words to express. Yet whatever pleasure he derived from the physical proximity of the woman who now – so unexpectedly - held his heart, General Pearce could only think of her welfare and his most earnest wish that this progression in their relationship towards a previously uncountenanced physicality had occurred under rather less taxing circumstances.

On Ruth's part, a voice in her mind could not help but warn her that she was being pathetic, but unable to walk from the shock of the events she had just witnessed and struggling to hold back her tears at such a deliberate and targeted attack, Miss Ruth Evershed took comfort in the only thing that made any sense in that moment – the man who had come to her rescue. In an uncharacteristic bout of selfishness she let herself be held and take comfort in his presence. The rest of it, Ruth would worry about later.

Unfortunately for both Ruth and the General, it wasn't long before it began to rain. Upon reaching the building where his rooms were located, both were soaked to the skin. It was an area where many military men lodged and they were, by the rule, early to bed and early to rise. By this point Miss Evershed was all but falling asleep in his arms, the fear and excitement of earlier in the evening leaving her body exhausted. Sir Harry took matters into his own hands, therefore, and with a grimace at the pain in his knees slid off the horse and took Ruth in his arms. His landlady, having spotted him upon his arrival dashed to open the door and followed him, hard upon his heels as Sir Harry guided Ruth up the stairs and straight into his rooms.

"General Pearce! What on earth have you done to this poor woman?"

"Mrs James, you must excuse me. This lady is Miss Evershed, daughter and heir of the late Admiral Evershed," He stared pointedly at his landlady who could only raise her eyebrows. She had known the man by reputation, of course. "Miss Evershed had her property broken into tonight and she was witness to a most gruesome act of violence. Her maid was killed and violated and Miss Evershed herself narrowly avoided being abducted by armed men. Had I not arrived when I did..."

"Lay her on the bed, she must rest. Fetch a blanket, I'll bring her some hot, sweet tea and some brandy."

"Thank you," Sir Harry did as bid, ushering her gently towards his bed in the back room and encouraging her to lift up her legs and lay back. He was fussing, he knew he was fussing, but he piled up pillows behind her and shook out an extra blanket that lay folded at the foot of the bed to give her some warmth. One often felt the cold profoundly after receiving a shock.

A tired head tried to lift itself up to look at him, "General?"

"Hush now. Rest. You are in my quarters. My landlady is called Mrs Connie James. She will look after you."

"Beth?"

Sir Harry's face said everything that Ruth need to know, "I'm sorry," He murmured. "Miss Evershed, I must return immediately to clean up your property and have arrangements made about the body."

"Of course," Ruth agreed, but she sounded rather shaken and, dare he say it, vulnerable in a way that made him quite uncertain about leaving her alone after all. Yet needs must.

"You'll be quite safe here, I promise," The General told her, "And if ever you do feel in danger there is a set of pistols under the bed. I presume you know how to use them?"

Ruth nodded. When she squeezed his hand, Harry was reluctant to let it go but the sooner he left the sooner he would get back and there was much to be done. Standing up, he let their fingers linger for as long as he might before turning and sweeping out of the room.

A moment later he swept back in, grabbed a fresh shirt and necktie from the closet and swept out again, muttering his apologies.

Ruth almost giggled in a bout of hysteria at the absurdity of it, but every bone in her body suddenly seemed weary and there was nothing she wanted to do more than rest. Unfortunately for Miss Evershed, she had been left in the care of Mrs James who it seemed was one of those quite assertive older women with whom one did not argue. As soon as the General's footsteps faded out of earshot Mrs James was up, tossing off the blanket and muttering something about wet clothes and stupid men.

"As if you can possibly rest while soaked to the skin. No, those must come off immediately."

"Mrs James, I really think I'll be fine."

"Oh you do, do you? Something tells me you'll still be telling me that when you catch your death of cold. No, the clothes must come off. You can borrow something of Sir Harry's. I dare say he has enough shirts to loan you one until your clothes dry and while we're on the subject, you're leaving wet patches on the bed. Let me stoke up the fire and then we'll find something comfortable for you to wear.

After she had stoked up the fire and helped Ruth out of her wet clothes, Ruth discovered that 'something comfortable' consisted of a pair of General Pearce's breaches and a shirt that was many sizes too large. Mrs James had to roll the sleeves up to the elbow and even tucked in at the waist it was still much too large. Still, it was warm and dry and after Mrs James had arranged Ruth's clothes in front of the fire she fetched a bowl of warm soup and laid out a place at the round dining table located in the corner between the window and the fireplace. Under Mrs James's severest gaze, Ruth forced herself to work through the meal. By the time she had finished eating, somehow the exhaustion of it all was catching up with her and she was all but falling asleep by the time Mrs James cleared it away. Fighting sleep, Ruth stumbled across to the inviting looking four-poster on the far side of the room and collapsed asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It was some hours later when she awoke, pitch dark outside and well past midnight going by the clock on the mantle. In spite of trying to return to her previous blissful state of dreamless unconsciousness, Ruth could not get back to sleep. She lay awake for a long time, watching the minutes tick by on the clock and looking about the dark oak-pannelled room. Being around General Pearce's things felt incredibly intimate, it was an insight into the man. Much of it was kept with a military-like neatness. From his few possessions that were on display, Ruth sensed he had the good taste of someone who invests in quality and yet was not overly ostentatious. There was nothing superfluous either. This was not a man, Ruth suspected, whose cluttered box room piled higher with junk year upon year, filling in direct proportion to one's intention to one day get around to clearing it out. The state of the box room in her own residence was a subject she rather preferred not to think on too long. Nor, she suspected, was he the sort of man whose bookshelves would be so full to bursting that the books would soon be lying in piles all over the floor and every available surface. No, everything was just so. Everything had its place. A spare sword hung from a hook by the door. A spare uniform jacket was hanging from the closet door along with several freshly laundered shirts. There were miniatures of his children on the nightstand and a diary that Ruth dare not look at no matter how her curiosity burned.

At length Ruth gave up on sleep and lit a single candle that sat on the nightstand. Something about the flicker of that flame caused events of the night to catch up with her with a newfound reality. The horror of what had occurred in a much beloved home with so many fond memories built up year-upon-year along with the gruesome end that Beth had met left Ruth quite traumatised. The state of her mind was exacerbated by a nighttime chill that was quite uncharacteristic for the time of year and Ruth found herself grasping the blanket from the foot of the bed as she went to stoke up the fire.

Alone, alone with her thoughts and nothing but the meditative flicker of the firelight to keep her company, Ruth found she could not help but think of the man whose presence sang from the room. She could not help but notice, for example, that she had unconsciously taken the empty side of the bed. Or rather, the side of the bed without an imprint. The side without the General's things. The side that did not smell of him. She pulled the shirt up to her nose and smelled his scent on the soft-laundered cotton. Holding it to her and letting the feeling of safety overwhelm her. She thought of his proposal, of her rejection. Of her talk about drinking and gambling and violence. Yet for all that the General had enjoyed many a drink on the various social occasions where they had spent time in each others company, Ruth Evershed had to confess she had never once witnessed him in a state of inebriation. The only time she suspected he may have joined in with one too many toasts after dinner he was mellow and morose under the influence of drink. As for violence, he was a man of the military of course but after witnessing his behaviour towards Catherine and his guilt over Jane's untimely death, after seeing every interaction with women and his own behaviour towards her, how could she possibly draw the same fearful conclusion that he might display violence towards her person. Not for a moment, even with the General charging towards her with the blade of his sword glistening in the moonlight, not for one moment had she been afraid of him. No, indeed, she had been relieved. She had honestly believed, apparently correctly, that he had come to save her. General Pearce had saved her life. Quite what the purpose of the attack had been, Ruth could not be sure, but thinking of him gave her comfort and at length she began to nod off, thinking of the warmth of his smile at many a ball, the cheeky glint in his eye, the sense of strength and honour that he exuded. It was these thoughts that gave Miss Evershed comfort as she pulled the collar of the shirt closed with her hand and wound the blanket tighter around her person. Staring into the flames, she let herself consider for a moment the man the General had displayed himself to be in private and

what it might be like to be married to this man. She felt a growing wetness between her legs as her mind wandered to the subject of marital relations, the intense way he stared at her and the inexplicable way she felt drawn to his person. The sense of comfort she derived from his person. The particular curve of his lips as he frowned. Staring into the fire, Miss Ruth Evershed thought of many of these things and considered for almost the first time in her life, the very great attraction she felt to a most eligible man.

Some distance away across London, Sir Harry's night was just as sleepless. Towers met him at the property and took in the scene for himself. Officers and men worked double time to clear the bodies, gathering any evidence they could before moving everything away and cleaning down the kitchen. The body of the poor maid would go to the morgue to be inspected by a doctor before her burial. A burial the expense of which Harry had decided to bear without informing Miss Evershed. He would have to discover whether there was any family, but he had never heard any mention that there was. The real target however, was undoubtedly Miss Evershed herself. Her connections to him had put her at risk and yet the events of the evening and the remarkable revelations from Lance-Corporal Hunter indicated to General Pearce that he was closer than ever to his goal. If Danny was right and the rumoured spy was indeed his father Lord Hunter, the dangers and the odds were greater than any of them could have imagined. They would need evidence. Real, strong evidence to bring down such a man and everyone involved in trying to discover such things would be at risk.

Towers, at least, had promised to warn the government and those senior military personnel involved in foreign relations to be more guarded in their diplomatic involvement with the French and the US. Undoubtedly, however, the news of the invasions in the United States would break soon. Summer, too often, was a time of war. Ghent had been offered as a neutral place to begin new negotiations with the US now that the war with Napoleon was over and General Pearce had no doubt that this foolhardy military expedition was an attempt to strengthen the British negotiating position and limit US expansion across the whole of that continent, however as the invaded country had a considerable home advantage, Sir Harry considered the British military offensive to be a pointless waste of life. The United States of America, he was quite sure, were lost. Those who believed they could still be won back were not living in this century. Closer to home however, there were other matters which constituted more pressing concerns. By the time everything was cleaned up and the men sent back to barracks, the sky was beginning to lighten. Sir Harry locked up the Evershed house and made his way across town to his own abode just as the first larks were beginning to warble in the blue darkness of the early hours.

Sir Harry entered his rooms as quietly as possible, turning the key in the lock with great gentility so as not to wake Miss Evershed should she be sleeping. The room was cosy. The fire crackled. Outside the rain pattered on the window and Ruth sat inside, wrapped up in a blanket, a shirt and pair of breeches that he could not help but recognise as his own, replacing the garments she'd been wearing which were completely soaked to the skin. He found the sight quite powerfully alluring and a strong surge of possession spiked through his heart. Sir Harry had to pause as the memory of her rejection returned to him and quickly muted his enthusiasm for her current state.

Waiting for her to notice his presence, Sir Harry eventually knocked on the wood-clad wall and Sir Harry saw her start and whip around in terror before she saw him and relaxed. He surmised she had been entirely lost in her own thoughts and he had clearly startled her by his appearance.

"General Pearce!"

"Miss Evershed, you must excuse me. I am conscious of the impropriety of my being here however I could not settle until I had satisfied myself you were quite well."

Ruth shrugged and then nodded. A yawn cracked her jaw. "I am quite well. Thank you, General. May I ask, the attackers?"

"Dead," He said bluntly.

Ruth nodded and stared once more into the flames.

"You should sleep," Sir Harry urged.

"I tried. I can't." Ruth looked up at him.

"Well, at least one of us should try to rest and I know I shan't. I have managed to clear things up at your residence and I intend on returning to my office for a few hours before briefing the Prime Minister and the Prince Regent first thing in the morning."

Ruth's eyes shot up to meet his. "Briefing them? About me?"

"About the attack, Miss Evershed," Sir Harry informed her quietly and then paused, "This was done for a purpose. It was done to scare you and to warn me. I believe we may be very close to our spy, closer than even we knew. The truth is, I would rather you were not alone until this is all resolved but I shall leave you to your solitude if that is your desire. Would you like me to go?"

"No! I...I think I should like the company," Miss Evershed offered, somewhat shyly.

Tentatively, General Pearce stepped closer and took the seat on the other side of the fire guard from where Ruth sat. "We may have to consider your having personal security. I fear your connection to me has made you a target."

"I can't believe Beth is dead," Ruth stared into the flames. "I keep expecting her to walk in the room."

"Is there family?"

Ruth shook her head.

Harry sighed.

"Don't blame yourself," Ruth insisted.

Harry looked up at her. "How can I not? I have been so eager to see you and to be in your presence, I pursued you like some sort of demented young rapscallion, I hired you to undertake work that put you in a position of immense peril and even after you made yourself quite clear where you stood I still pursued my course of action and as a result I have put you in danger."

"No... Sir Harry..."

"You could have died," Sir Harry's voice broke, the very thought of it was completely unbearable to him.

"As Beth did?" Ruth stared into the fire and clasped the large shirt closed at the collar with her hand.

Harry nodded grimly. "As Beth did." Sighing once more he rubbed his forehead from side to side and then began to loosen his necktie. It was another stain on his conscience. Another despicable death and one that would have to be covered up to prevent alarm amongst the General public and the extent of their knowledge of Lord Hunter's betrayal from becoming known now that all the perpetrators had been killed. "I shall see to it that she has a fitting funeral."

Ruth stared into the fire for a while. She felt Sir Harry's soft eyes on her and wondered that he could be so hard and cold with some and then so gentle with her.

"Did I frighten you?" Sir Harry asked quietly. "Charging in like I did?"

"You didn't frighten me, General. In fact you very probably saved my life." Seeing the way he looked at her she sought to reassure General Pearce, "Really," She urged him, even more than she felt, "I'll be fine."

The fire was settling in now and as it did so its warmth began to penetrate her skin. She closed her eyes for a moment, savouring the feel of its heat on her face. Silence stretched, interrupted only by an early blackbird outside.

When some time had passed and Miss Evershed still had given no indication of moving, Sir Harry rose from his chair and approached her, suggesting very softly that she ought to lie under the covers and keep warm. Miss Evershed found herself reluctant to leave the entrancing flames of the fire. Another yawn cracked open her jaw and reluctantly, Ruth acknowledged to herself – if not out loud – that she was indeed tired enough once more to merit lying in bed once more.

Sir Harry offered his hand to Miss Evershed which she accepted only to find she missed the contact once she was standing and had to let it go. She wrapped the blanket around herself a little tighter, swathing it around her body as a form of self comfort. In the darkness, wearing clothing that was much too large for her female frame, Sir Harry had never quite seen the woman before him appear so small and vulnerable. In spite of her stature she so often appeared strong, her lightening-quick mind and fierce intelligence more than compensating for her shorter height compared with the men around her. It was at times like this, the quiet moments after stress and trauma, that Sir Harry so often sought out human comfort and he could not hide the concern for her in his eyes.

"If only my father was alive," Ruth found herself confessing, "He gave the best hugs."

"Did he?" Sir Harry whispered, with some considerable interest on the subject.

Ruth blushed slightly, embarrassed to have raised the highly inappropriate subject of physical intimacy. The truth was, however, that she missed it so and when she brought herself back to the present, the General was half a step closer with his warm, broad chest and his strong arms and she found herself falling into them, her own arms tucked into her body as she let herself lean into him, as his arms came around her, as his hand tucked her head under his chin and a soft sigh escaped him carrying the breath of her name.

They stayed that way for a long time. Silent, wordless. Ruth listened to his heartbeat, noted the scent of his body, the particular sensation of the wool of his uniform coat on her cheek. Not since her father died had she sought physical comfort in someone else and never before had she realised quite how much she needed it. At length she found herself sniffling and then crying as all her feelings came flooding out at once. Sir Harry simply held her and made soft shushing noises and rubbed her back, rocking her like a child and when Ruth was all cried out he swept away her tears with his handkerchief and guided her to the bed to lie down.

Sir Harry pulled the covers back and waited for her to situate herself comfortably before pulling them over her person and tucking her in. The way her wide, dilated pupils stared at him, Sir Harry could not help but stare back and found himself tentatively leaning forwards. When no objection came, he gently placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and sat on the side of the bed, his large palm resting on the small soft hands with all their ink stains.

"Sorry."

"Broad shoulders," Sir Harry smiled kindly. It wasn't a moment for too many words.

"It was the disappointment," Ruth announced out of the blue.

Harry looked up curiously.

"The reason I turned you down. I was worried about disappointment in married life. Everything seemed too good to be true, to fast, too sudden after spending my entire adult life on my own I had almost given up on love. I was scared of the disappointment of marrying in hope and being torn apart by the reality."

"I cannot fault you for having concerns, Miss Evershed."

"Yet I did you an injustice by entertaining concerns that were based on rumour and speculation. I know you now, Sir, I know you are a good and kind man who has seen the error of his ways." Ruth looked down at her hands, unable to meet his eye as she worked up the confidence to say her next words. "Its just I find myself wondering if I made the right decision, that's all." For a moment she dared to glance at him and she noted his eyes hung onto his every word.

Sir Harry's eyes bore into hers, his chest heaving with heavy breaths as he sought to control himself, suppress his raging heart and surging hope. In as gentlemanly a manner as he could muster in the circumstances he took her hand and kissed it. "Sleep on it.

Ruth's eyes widened at his declaration but Sir Harry only smiled and kissed her hand again before rising to take his leave. "Sleep on it tell me if you still feel the same when you awaken."

"You don't need to go..."

"Mmm. I think I rather do, Miss Evershed."

"You could...I mean..." Ruth stuttered to a halt and then sighed, resignedly. "Ignore me. I'm being silly. Of course you must go if that is what you feel is best."

Sir Harry tilted his head slightly, he pushed his lips out thoughtfully as he tried to decipher what she was really thinking past the brave face she was trying to put on. He saw her eyes flit to the empty side of the bed and then back to his. Without saying a word, and maintaining eye contact, he slowly walked around the bed, shrugged off his coat and boots and laid himself down on the empty side of the bed. His side of the bed. Laying on his back with his hands on his belly, she immediately gravitated towards him, snuggling into his warmth and resting her cheek on his shoulder. When he stretched and arm back and tucked her against his side, far from complaining Ruth Evershed actually let out a soft sigh of contentment.

"You can't sleep under the covers," She told him, which was met with a warm chuckle that seemed to embarrass her as Ruth realised she was telling Sir Harry what to do in his own home.

"No, that would be quite improper," Sir Harry joked.

Ruth Evershed had the temerity to hit him, though it was a gentle hit, more of a pat on his chest. He supposed it was probably the effect of excessive tiredness that had dissipated so much of her usual reserve. Tiredness and the emotional strains of the evening. Yet while there was of course the risk that she would regret this come morning, Sir Harry could not quite bring himself to feel sorry.

"I feel I am displacing you," She told him, but the presence of her damp clothes still drying by the fire made it clear that she could not leave, herself, quite yet and Sir Harry muttered, 'stuff and nonsense' before kissing her once more and caressing her hair.

"You may soon discover, Miss Evershed, that there is something about the sight of a woman wearing a man's clothes that is most alluring," and then in a gesture which moved Ruth rather more than it should, General Pearce brought out a white ribbon from the pocket of his waistcoat and kissed it while staring at her most intensely before tucking it back from whence it came.

Miss Evershed blushed at the General's words but there was yet something humorous about the whole situation. What things people would think if they found out! And yet here they were, even sharing a bed they were still as chivalrous and bound in honour as two courting older lovers could be. That thought brought a smile to her eyes that was a vast improvement on the horrified shock she so clearly displayed earlier. For Ruth, the General's presence was a great source of comfort. Yet the happiness that she ought to feel at finally coming to an understanding with Sir Harry was tainted by the lingering guilt that she had been unable to help or protect Beth, who had died for no more serious a crime than being employed in the Evershed household. Yet being as she was in the embrace of his arms, at that moment nothing else seemed to matter and she was too exhausted by this point to resist her own need to seek comfort and safety and pleasure and rest.

"Is this what its like to be married?" Ruth asked after a little while.

"Sometimes, yes."

"Good sometimes?"

"Good sometimes," Sir Harry confirmed and placed another chaste kiss on her hair.

They stayed that way for almost two hours, Ruth dozing off and on. Sir Harry holding her, sleepless. Finally at around six o'clock Sir Harry extracted himself and apologised that he needed to go to the Prime Minister.

As she watched Sir Harry take his leave of her, he passed by the mirror he clearly used for shaving in the morning and impulsively she rose and stopped him. With a gentle hand on his chest, she bid him stop as she caught sight of a cutthroat razor.

His eyebrows rose, enquiringly as she moved toward the razor and picked it up.

"Don't move," Ruth told him.

Sir Harry pouted softly but obeyed her and stood stock still as she reached up to the nap of his neck and cut off a curl.

"There," Miss Evershed announced, "Now we are even."

Sir Harry's gaze at that moment was so dark and so intense that Ruth felt herself grow wet between her thighs and when he finally broke away and looked down she saw a noticeable bulge in his trousers which he was making no effort to conceal as his chest heaved with harsh breaths. At length Sir Harry took an aborted half step towards her before finally, in a low rumbling growl, he uttered her name and made a low bow before sweeping out of the room.

The tumultuous mix of emotions roiling within her did not abate as she stared into the fire long after General Pearce had taken his leave. At last, however, and after checking the pistols, Ruth found herself crawling back into bed and clutching the pillow that smelled of his scent. After some time spent staring at the ceiling, Ruth determined she was not going to sleep in her present state and in an act she found wantonly erotic, touched herself in the most intimate way possible in the General's own bed. Only after she had relieved all the tensions built up over dramatic course of the night did she eventually fall into an exhausted sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

It was some sort of noise that woke Ruth, the light that shone through the thin glimmer in the curtains betrayed the fact that it was already some time into the morning. The drapes around the four poster bed she was sleeping in had not been drawn the night before and so she had a chance to look around Sir Harry's bedroom in the broad light of day. It was modest, but well appointed with oak panelling on the walls and the sturdy sort of hardwood furniture that could withstand long military campaigns. The building itself was solid without vermin or damp and seemed a perfectly suitable place for a man of Harry's rank to keep a room for a while. However there were few personal features, the furniture seemed to come with the room and it did not have the air of a beloved, lived-in sort of place. It was temporary and perfunctory. Ruth got up to take a better look and noted it was filled with dark hardwood furniture – there was a fireplace, a round table and a number of chairs for dining or playing cards, there was a good sized desk at the window that seemed little used, a faded Persian rug on the floor and the chairs in front of the fireplace in which she and the General had been seated the night before.

Half an hour later after using the chamber pot and Mrs James had appeared and brought a basin of water, Ruth redressed in her clothes from the night before. They were in that indeterminate state between damp and dry that resulted in drying in a room with no air and in spite of having not quite dried properly, Ruth realised she was going to have to put up with the discomfort until she could get home to change. Having done everything she possibly could to make herself ready, there was a quiet knock at the door which Ruth hurried to answer. The idea that this might be unwise given the events of the night before did not occur to her, only when she opened the thick oak door to find Cousin Malcolm on the other side did she realise that it could have been literally anyone.

"Ruth!" Malcolm exclaimed with great surprise. "You dark horse!"

Quite unexpectedly, Ruth found herself crushed in his embrace and she had to admit, she needed the comfort.

"I have to confess I'm a little relieved. I tried calling on you at your house earlier but it was shut up and no one was there. I was quite worried. Is Harry around?"

"No. He's at the office."

"Is he? Well, Mum's the word, Ruth. You can tell him I called," Malcolm leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "And good for you. You deserve a bit of fun."

"I...Malcolm, we're not...that is to say..."

Malcolm tapped his nose and winked. "Officially, of course, I've got to tell you that the church strongly disapproves of such behaviour."

"I'm aware," Ruth stared at her hands.

"Unofficially..." Malcolm continued. Ruth sent her Cousin her severest glare and abruptly he shut his mouth. "Well then, I suppose I'd best be going. I only came to take my leave before I head back to my parish."

"Malcolm..."

"Ruth?"

"Malcolm, my house was broken into last night. My maid was killed and I was myself was very nearly kidnapped. Only the arrival of Lance-Corporal Hunter and General Pearce saved me from the same fate. You mustn't tell anyone, only General Pearce took me here because I had nowhere else to go. He's been up all night with it."

"Dear God!" Malcolm gasped.

Behind Malcolm, footsteps sounded on the stairs and Sir Harry himself appeared, looking like he had been up all night, which Miss Evershed supposed was probably true. Sir Harry blinked, surprised to find himself standing on the landing outside his room with two very familiar people standing watching him.

"Good morning, Harry," Malcolm muttered. There was a warmth in his eyes, Ruth noticed, and she wondered for a moment about Malcolm's tendencies. "I believe the hour has just gone eleven o'clock. Late night?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Taking my leave, but I can see I'm interrupting something."

"Nonsense. I came to pick up Miss Evershed. I've been at the office all night."

It was General Pearce who volunteered to ask Mrs James for some refreshments and Malcolm sat down with the two of them to toast and eggs and coffee and tea while Mrs James tutted loudly about General Pearce's work schedule and berated Ruth for not making him wear a clean shirt, something that resulted in Ruth looking at once rather helpless and completely alarmed. The three friends enjoyed a large late breakfast together with plenty of tea and it was with the delight of an hour spent in good company that they bid farewell to Malcolm before General and Miss Evershed left his rooms in order to return to the Evershed house.

Sir Harry had, somehow, managed to bring the carriage that went with Jane's former household and Ruth began to protest it was too much, that a cab would do.

"After my meeting first thing I had to call in to arrange a small matter regarding a few of the servants," Sir Harry explained, "And as I was there anyway it seemed absurd not to use the means at my disposal for our conveyance."

"General Pearce, you have been as gracious and wonderful as any man could be. I thank you," Ruth smiled shyly and accepted his offer of a hand to ascend into the carriage proper.

Much of the rest of the carriage ride was silent, both of them needing time and space to process the events of the day before. Upon arriving at Miss Evershed's residence, General Pearce accompanied her in and introduced her to two servants who had appeared there apparently overnight. A man and a woman, who were happy to take the attic room at the top of the house that was currently unused.

"General," Miss Evershed said after receiving the introduction, "A word?"

Somewhat reluctantly, General Pearce followed Miss Evershed into her front room where she proceeded to point out all the reasons, financial and otherwise, why it would not be possible for her to have two servants in the house.

"I can't afford them!"

"They are from Jane's household, Miss Evershed. Callum served with me. He is trained in the use of arms and Joanna is experienced in all matters regarding the running of a household. She was a ladies maid but we have come to an understanding and she is willing to take a lower position here with more responsibility. Unfortunately with Jane's passing they are no longer required."

"General, this is absurd."

"Howso?"

"There is a word for a woman who has everything paid for by the men who court her, General Pearce, and it is not a word with which I want to be associated! I thought you of all people, I could trust."

General Pearce hung his head. It didn't seem like insisting she could trust him would do much good at the moment. "Miss Evershed?"

"And it makes me wonder what else you have done behind my back!"

Ruth stood, blazing eyes directed at him, waiting for her answer. Waiting for the denial that never came.

"General?! What have you done? Or should I ask Zoe? Or Daniel Hunter? Or Adam Carter? Will they tell me the truth since you seem so reluctant?"

"The dresses," General Pearce sighed and rubbed his forehead. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "The purse of money for the dresses, it did not come from Zoe's guardian."

The next thing the General felt was the sting of Miss Evershed's hand across his cheek.

"Ruth..."

"Don't you dare! Oh God, why did I not go and stay with Zoe? Why did I let you take me to your rooms last night? Do you know what people will say, General. Do you know what happens to women who are seen in the dead of night with strange men who pay for their clothes and their household?!"

"You are not a kept woman, I assure you, I only wanted you to be able to hold your head up in society!"

"Hold my head up in society?" Ruth screeched, "By paying for-"

"By looking after you!" Sir Harry snapped, "You proud, stubborn, mule of a woman! Don't pretend I do you some dishonour, Madam, when I twice asked for your hand before making any financial overtures towards you!"

"Bigamously!"

"In case it had somehow escaped your attention, Miss Evershed, my former wife is now dead. The point is a moot one at best and only last night you informed me you were reconsidering my offer. Frankly, after what has happened, I would not be human if I was not concerned for your welfare!"

The reminder of the horrific violence that had been vested upon the very house in which they stood only hours before deflated Miss Evershed's ire somewhat but her eyes still blazed like angry blue flames at the man before her.

"You may tell your neighbours that as your own maid was murdered in that very room, an old acquaintance of your father has been so good as to send you some servants on loan. It is not a lie. The dresses no one has any cause to know about and if anyone does find out, by all means let them question my conduct. After a quarter of a century at war I think I can handle a few London gossips!"

"It is not your conduct which will be in question, General. We have been seen together at balls, you have been seen here at my residence several times now. I visited your rooms and spent the night and now you pay the wages of my must see how it looks! General Pearce, if there is one thing I cannot stand it is to be the subject of gossip," Ruth exclaimed with a tumult of anger and distress. "Which is exactly what will happen when all this comes out. My entire reputation is predicated upon the widespread belief that my honour is beyond reproach!"

"Then by all means, Miss Evershed, inform the gossips that we have an understanding. Lord knows I have been trying to secure one with you for long enough!"

"Well maybe I will!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!" Harry snatched for his hat, "I'll show myself out."

Ruth opened her mouth to say something but Sir Harry was already sweeping out the door and she was left to sigh to herself and wring her hands.

Sir Harry was, however, left in some state of confusion. Did they now, indeed, have an understanding after their somewhat heated conversation or had Miss Evershed only expressed herself as she did out of anger and frustration? While Sir Harry could perfectly understand her concerns, he saw nothing untoward about a friend helping out in times of need and having your home attacked and your maid murdered while you stood in the next room definitely, to Sir Harry, constituted a time of need. It would be a complete abrogation of his responsibilities towards her and his feelings to simply wash his hands of the matter and hope for the best.

Unfortunately he had other more pressing matters which required his attention. In spite of the fact that Jane's funeral had only just occurred, William Towers was insisting on meeting with him that afternoon to comprehensively go over everything that Sir Harry had managed to find out about the spy now that they had a named suspect in the form of Lord Hunter. It was anticipated that the meeting would take up the greater portion of the afternoon and before that, Sir Harry knew he must return to Catherine and apologise for the manner in which he had departed the day before.

To Sir Harry's surprise his daughter met him with a hug, which lasted only long enough for her to establish that he had not, as she feared, been killed in a sword fight the previous night. After having established that her father was alive after all, the cold shoulder returned. Graham unfortunately had not yet emerged from his room, even and although it was well past noon, however Sir Harry and his daughter sat down to a lunch of cheese and pork pies for lunch with a selection of new season summer fruits with honey for dessert.

"Father?"

"Catherine?"

"Should I assume from your presence here that Miss Evershed is no longer in danger?"

Harry's fork paused halfway to his mouth as he looked up at his daughter. He noted for the first time that she looked, if anything, worried.

"You left so abruptly and in such a state of alarm that I did not know what to think."

"Miss Evershed's home was attacked last night. Her maid was murdered and an attempt was made to abduct Miss Evershed herself. Undoubtedly the matter is connected with our work. I have sent Callum and Joanna over to look after the household and to see that she is not alone."

"Well that's very admirable father but in such an event I wonder that she wants to go back there at all. Perhaps Miss Evershed might like to stay here for a few days?"

"Whilst you are, of course, welcome to extend the invitation I think you might find Miss Evershed rather more stubborn than you are at present anticipating. She is much attached to her home and besides, it would be rather unkind to expect her to put up with your brother's antics."

"It is his home too, Papa."

Sir Harry smiled when he realised his daughter had inadvertently slipped into her old manner of address. "It is, and it isn't. Legally, of course, it shall pass to you. Your mother and I had discussed it although we had neither of us imagined her passing would occur so abruptly. I suppose in the circumstances it may double-up as your dowry if you should marry. I had been looking at sorting something out in that regard since I have so sadly neglected the subject over the years, much to your detriment, but the house was originally your mother's and it seems appropriate that upon her passing it should go to her daughter."

Catherine was speechless. Her hands hovered, shaking slightly as a single tear tracked down her right cheek.

Harry merely concentrated on his luncheon and continued cutting his meat into small section and eating it. The strained silence between them was now of a rather different nature than it had once been.

"But father...where will you live?"

"I have rooms near Whitehall that will do for now. In the long run," At this point Sir Harry paused, "In the long run I have hopes of remarrying."

"Oh." Catherine's crestfallen expression could hardly be hidden, even after years of disappointment from her father.

"Catherine, you ought to know it is not out of any desire to start a new family or to have new heirs, it is simply that I have spent much of my life alone, or on campaign, and if I should be as fortunate as to win the heart of the right woman I should like the opportunity to grow old in a contented state of companionship."

Visions went through Catherine's head of some of the married women with whom her father had had affairs in the past. Many of them were – in Catherine's own opinion – caustic, money-grabbing and social climbing. What had attracted her father to them in the first place was beyond her, although on second thoughts it was perfectly obvious. Bored housewives with servants to do everything for them and absentee husbands. Her father's wandering eye had doubtless settled upon them with the hope of coming to some mutually beneficial arrangement. Even in his previous visits home during the war Sir Harry Pearce seemed to have spent as much time bedhopping around London as he had at home with his family. None of these women fitted with her father's words about contented companionship and her father's encounters with such women only seemed to create an awful lot of dirty bedlinen for the servants to wash. Yet recently that all seemed to have changed. Catherine had begun to entertain hopes, especially after meeting Miss Evershed, that her father might finally be seeing the error of his ways and be willing to settle down into a more Christian and proper state of fidelity.

"I know you are still grieving for your mother and you will be for some time. I only raise the matter now because..." at this, Sir Harry paused again and cut up another piece of pie off his plate. "Catherine, what do you think of Miss Evershed?"

At the pronouncement of her name, a great sigh of relief let out of Catherine Pearce's body. Of all the women her father could have chosen, from what little Catherine knew of the woman she considered it to be a good match. Catherine's own father was much changed for the better in his behaviour and temperament since he had begun his acquaintance with the woman and although when Miss Evershed had visited, Catherine had presumed her to be just as insensitive and self-serving as all the women who had gone before her, after talking for some time Catherine now knew that not to be the case. Indeed, Catherine had felt quite better after their discussion as it became increasingly clear that of all their visitors, Miss Evershed alone seemed to understand the deep pain and the hopeless sense of being cast adrift in the world, that accompanied the profound grief of losing a beloved parent. Besides, Catherine had hopes of continuing the acquaintance and pursuing the interesting prospect of the lady's numerous contacts in the Royal Navy. The thought of escape from London, of travel and seas and adventures was one of the few things that provided light at the end of the tunnel of mourning.

"She seems amiable enough. Rather different than the women you have pursued in the past," Catherine announced at last.

"Yes," Sir Harry agreed quietly, "But for the better, I think. Catherine, I would not raise the matter so soon after your mother's funeral were it not for the somewhat awkward situation whereby I believe Miss Evershed and I may have inadvertently come to an understanding."

"Inadvertently," Catherine echoed with a query in her voice. "How can you inadvertently come to an understanding?"

"We had an argument."

"You proposed to a woman who has openly declared she has no design on you, in the middle of an argument?"

Sir Harry felt his face heat with a faint blush as his daughter pointed out the absurdity of the situation. Under no circumstances was he yet prepared to reveal the full story of his complicated relationship with Miss Evershed and so he decided sticking to the latest of their encounters was probably simplest, and for the best. "In the wake of her maid's unfortunate death I did not want her to be alone. She stayed elsewhere last night but returned to her residence this morning and so I sent over Callum and Joanna and intimated that I was happy to continue to cover the expense of their employment as her living is so restricted at present in the wake of her father's death. Miss Evershed questioned how socially appropriate it was for me to be making financial contributions towards her household at which point I rashly declared that she was by all means welcome to inform those liable to such gossip that that we had an understanding."

Catherine stared at her father, slightly unable to believe his audacity.

"Yes, well, I thought it best at that point to make a strategic retreat." Sir Harry announced calmly and then continued eating.

Catherine stared at her father a while longer but it seemed he wasn't going to disclose anything further. With a sigh Catherine shook her head and found herself wondering that such a man as he could have achieved any standing at all. For so great a man, he really could be quite obtuse.

It was with some trepidation that Lance-Corporal Daniel Hunter knocked on the door of the reclusive Mister Lucas North. Gentleman. No title. Danny had called at Mister North's club first thing in the morning but had not been permitted entry to the establishment through the front entrance and Danny refused to go around the back and meet in the kitchen to ask permission to marry the woman he loved.

Danny himself was under no illusion about the sort of life he could offer Zoe. Miss Reynolds could marry at the very top of London society should she so choose. She was intelligent and beautiful enough to make a very good match indeed. Yet she had chosen him and Danny had fallen, fallen so hard. The problem for Lance-Corporal Hunter was that he wanted the best for his beloved but society and the law would not permit him to give her the best on account of being illegitimate and on account of the colour of his skin. She would have to live with the permanent indignity of a man who was refused entry, refused commissions and persistently refused service on account of his race. Their children, when they had them, would be black and would be treated likewise. Zoe would be ostracised by the society in which she had been raised for that as well, for her choices in life. They would struggle financially, especially if Danny was cut off by his father as he fully expected to happen when he exposed Lord Hunter's traitorous actions.

The truth was that there were myriad reasons why Miss Zoe Reynolds might have refused him, yet at every turn she had welcomed his advances and encouraged more. He was stuck. For starters he was in love with the woman, so there was then. Then there was the problem that if they did not marry, due to their emotional attachment his father would doubtless abuse or manipulate Zoe in order to control his wayward bastard son. It was no secret now that Danny would do almost anything to keep her safe. Too long had he been conscious of needing to watch his father's every movement in Zoe's presence. Partly Danny blamed himself, for had talked too openly about his feelings at the beginning of the relationship and increasingly now was contemplating the need to go abroad, to escape his father and to make a new life somewhere completely different. Perhaps somehow in all of this he could even aid the cause of abolition. Zoe's political views were in line with his own, but the time that they would have liked to have available to them to sit and talk together was not permitted while they were only courting and while the letters they had exchanged had fast become the most precious things in his possession, it was no substitute for looking on her face when she teased him or seeing her eyes light up when she smiled.

In short, Lance-Corporal Hunter's situation was not the sort of situation that any prospective suitor could boast about, for while his father's family was rich and Danny himself benefited from that, if things went the way that Danny expected them to the future was very uncertain and it was highly probable that they would be much reliant on the charity and goodwill of others. Mister North had every reason to refuse Danny's request, although Danny had a feeling that if he did Zoe would soon be requesting they take a trip to Gretna. At least the Sons of Africa had expressed a willingness to help should they need to flee the country or go underground. At the moment, there was almost nowhere that Danny could envisage being out of his father's reach and bringing the man down was a dangerous game.

He glanced sideways at the male servant who had shown him in and knocked twice on the door with a sound rap.

"Come."

Danny opened the door and, with great trepidation, entered. Behind a grand mahogany desk Mister North's tall, imposing figure rose and reached out a hand. "Lance-Corporal Hunter?"

"Mister North," Danny shook his hand.

Behind them, under the soft gloved hand of a footman, the door closed.

The following day, in a certain street on a certain house, Major General Sir Harry Pearce watched his daughter pull on a black bonnet to accompany her black dress with a measure of concern. Catherine had not been out of the house since her mother died and although she ventured down to the public rooms once or twice each day.

"Catherine are you sure about this?"

"I need to get out of the house, Papa. I am going mad."

Inside his chest, Sir Harry's heart squeezed at the old familiar title but he said nothing to avoid drawing his daughter's attention to her slip.

"I asked you if you thought Miss Evershed might permit me to call on her and you said she would," Catherine reiterated the same argument they had been having ever since the topic had been raised. "I am perfectly capable of sitting a carriage for twenty minutes across town and even if I am not, I believe Miss Evershed to be understanding enough if I should arrive in a flood of tears."

"Indeed," Sir Harry agreed at length. He watched his daughter carefully, but she was strong, Catherine, and held herself together. Harry knew that there were good days and bad days. Days where Catherine coped admirably and other days where she was all but inconsolable. Today was one of the better days and Catherine had resolved to use any excuse she could to get out of the house and make a social visit to the woman who might one day be her new stepmother.

They arrived outside Miss Evershed's residence in the middle of the morning and Sir Harry was greeted at the door by Callum who showed him into the front room where Miss Evershed was sitting perusing a book that seemed to be written in medieval German. When Miss Evershed continued to read, General Pearce glanced over his shoulder at Catherine and then waited another few moments before clearing his throat. At length, Miss Evershed closed the book and looked up.

"Sorry, I was just finishing the paragraph," Miss Evershed explained with every courtesy. They both knew, however, it was a subtle reminder to General Pearce of exactly whose home this was and who was in charge. Yet she rose as any good host would and asked Callum to have some tea brought in.

"Miss Evershed, you are acquainted with my daughter Catherine?"

"Of course," Miss Evershed and Catherine Pearce curtseyed to each other. "You must excuse me for the intrusion, Miss Evershed. You said a visit would not be unwelcome and I took you at your word. I am so fed up staring at the same four walls..."

"Of course," Ruth rushed forwards and clasped Catherine's hand. "Why don't we get some fresh air. There's a park at the end of the street and then we can come back and have some lunch. A nice bowl of lentil broth, perhaps?"

"That would be lovely," Catherine smiled. It was, Sir Harry had to note, the first genuine smile he had seen from Catherine in quite some time and it was down entirely to the felicity of the woman before him. For someone who had never been a mother in her life Sir Harry could not help but observe that she took to the role as naturally as a duck to water. "Papa?"

"My knee will hold up for a short jaunt," Sir Harry agreed.

"Well then," Ruth addressed them, "Let me just get my spencer and boots on. Oh dear, I must speak with Callum..."

Sir Harry smiled dotingly as Miss Evershed fluttered in her own scatty-minded way and dashed off to the kitchen to cancel the tea she had ordered just moments before and, no doubt, request some soup to be readied for their return.

Catherine could not quite bring herself to believe the extraordinary difference in her father's behaviour as a result of Miss Evershed's presence. He was, by all accounts, completely smitten with the woman and the evidence was right there before her eyes. Admittedly it was not entirely appropriate so soon after her mother's death but then they had been divorced and spent so little time together in many years and her father's increasing penchant for isolation and drink had made him more and more difficult to deal with every time he returned home. Until now. "Papa?"

"Hmm?" Harry snapped out of his happy thoughts of Ruth back to the present, but whatever they were going to say was interrupted by Ruth arriving back into the room pulling on a pair of gloves. She took one look at Catherine, declared, "Bonnet!" to the entire room and then promptly walked out again.

Sir Harry chuckled warmly. For someone so intelligent, Miss Evershed could be quite delightfully ridiculous without any intention whatsoever and it was something which Sir Harry found drew him to the woman in a most inexorable way. It was with great pleasure that he offered her his arm and Catherine his other arm and the three of them walked the short distance to Hyde Park. They spent a pleasant hour walking arm in arm, admiring the parkland and the carriages and roses of June.

After a while Catherine began to grow tired and she took a seat by the pond to watch the wildfoul while Sir Harry and Ruth walked arm and arm at an acceptable distance.

"This morning," Ruth began, "When I accepted your offer..."

"Yes."

"Where would we live?" Ruth enquired out of the blue. She was enjoying her time with General Pearce more and more. Each instinctively felt comfortable in the other's presence, there being no need to fill awkward silences and even Ruth's tendency towards babbling nervously had been quelled by closer acquaintance with the man.

"Hmm?" General Pearce looked at her, his lips forming a thoughtful pout.

"If we married," Ruth said, a blush rising to her cheeks at the very thought of marriage to this man, "where would we live?"

"I suppose we might as well live at your current residence, if you are happy there."

"What about your other home? Catherine and Graham?"

"It came to me as part of Jane's dowry, it has always belonged to her family. It will go to Catherine now," General Pearce explained calmly. "As for Graham, unfortunately the apple doesn't fall far, though I like to think I did not sink to the depths of his depravity when I was his age. I would of course do everything in my power to prevent any of your property falling into his hands. It should rightly go to your heirs, as Jane's things will go to hers."

"General Pearce, you must be aware that due to my age the probability of our having children is...unlikely." Ruth blushed, thinking of the events that would have to occur in order for her to become heavy with child. Sir Harry had never spoken of a desire for more children.

"I am aware and I wouldn't have you feel that there is any pressure upon you in that regard yet I confess I have dared to entertain the possibility. It is not, you must understand me, that I wish to marry you for that purpose. I seek your companionship, Miss Evershed. I seek your company. I seek your sharp mind, your conversation and your ability to drink half the admiralty under the table."

Ruth suspected he was teasing her on this point.

"I find pleasure in your company," Sir Harry continued, "And I dare to allow myself to hope that after everything which has passed between us that you may feel the same. In truth I have no need of more heirs but if God sees fit to bless us with a child it would not be unwelcome, would it?"

"No," Ruth confessed quietly. "It wouldn't."

"And as regards property," Harry continued, "I do what I can within the rather restrictive confines of the law. At least there is no entail to worry about," General Pearce looked over at Ruth, at her pale, quiet demeanour and his now ever-present worry for her showed itself in his eyes. "Miss Evershed, are you really quite sure about returning home so soon? The death of your maid-"

"Beth," Ruth supplied.

"Yes, Beth," Sir Harry continued, "No one would expect you to be over it quite so soon. You have have been through rather a lot in quite a short space of time and I fear that until political matters come to some sort of conclusion things may continue in that vein for some time."

"I must confess, the thought of being there does make me somewhat nervous but it is my home, it has always been my home."

"Would you permit me to send over a maid and a manservant? It would put my mind very much at ease."

"Unless I have misremembered, General Pearce, you have already sent over a maid and a manservant."

"And you correctly rebuked me for my presumptuous attitude, Madam."

Miss Evershed, while acknowledging the absurdity of agreeing to something which had already occurred, acquiesced to the request, and she could see it was the correct response when Sir Harry smiled one of his rare smiles that reached his eyes and then he stopped and turned to her and took her hand.

"Are..." Sir Harry stopped, stared down at the ground as if reconsidering his words and then started again. "Are are agreed?" He asked earnestly.

Ruth stared at their hands and then up at his face and nervously nodded, "Yes." She watched as Sir Harry raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers, never breaking eye contact.

"Is there...I feel a little ridiculous asking this," Sir Harry admitted, "But is there a male relative to whom I should speak regarding...regarding permission for..."

"Only Malcolm," Ruth replied with a little shy smile. It still seemed unreal to be admitting her feelings, to be accepting his hand but in spite of all her reasons for staying single all these years, in spite of all her concerns at marrying such a powerful man, Ruth could only admit that joy swelled her heart at the prospect of their union. They were both of them smitten, their laughter ringing out across the stillness of the lake and then just as Sir Harry turned to head back towards Catherine, Ruth grasped the front of his jacket then raised herself up on her toes and kissed him soundly on the lips. It was all Sir Harry could do to remember they were in a public place. When at length the kiss broke off both their chests were heaving.

"I do tend to find," Sir Harry said quietly, "That when one is married, making up is the best part of having arguments."

"Is that so?"

"Indeed," Sir Harry smiled down on her. "I'll make an announcement in the paper."

"Must we?"

"Break half the hearts of London? All those debutantes hoping I'll die in five years and leave them all my money? I think so."

"You could, you know," Ruth told him, some of her own insecurity rising to the surface. "You could have any debutante in London."

"I don't want any debutante, Miss Ruth Evershed. I only want you."

The declaration seemed to put paid to her protests and they walked arm in arm around the lake, Catherine joining them once they arrived at her seat and slowly made their way back to the house. The lake reminded Ruth of her sailing days and so Catherine asked for some stories and Ruth chattered away, talking about mourning periods and plans for dinner parties and all the officers she could invite should Catherine want it.

Behind them Sir Harry watched, his gentleman's walking stick beating out a soft rhythm on the pavement as his daughter and his fiancee bonded. There was much to be apprehensive about. Lord Hunter was still at large, the invasion of the United States of America was under way, the West India Lobby was constantly at work, Daniel Hunter was in an awful predicament with his god-daughter Zoe Reynolds, the exile of Napoleon was not nearly so far away as Sir Harry would like and the lives of those he held dear were even now in constant danger. Yet in spite of it all he allowed himself a moment of joy as the sun in the clear blue sky reflected on the ripples of the water. Birds sang in the trees of the parkland that stretched before them and horses pulling carriages trotted around the carriageway in the distance.

There was more to come, much more. Marriage and children, espionage and intrigue, warfare and strife. Yet in this moment his Ruth loved him and just for a moment as his beloved glanced over at him, a tentative warmth showing in her pale eyes, all was right with the world.


	9. Chapter 9

The engagement was announced a week later in The Times newspaper and much to General Pearce's chagrin he found himself forced to attend yet another dreaded social event upon the announcement of his upcoming nuptials. It was, unfortunately, William Towers himself who decided that such an event was required and therefore, barring an inopportune bout of illness, there was little that General Pearce could do to remove himself from the dreaded celebration. Worse still, Towers had consulted with Mr and Mrs Carter about the guest list and therefore General Pearce himself knew little of the guest list or the events of the evening.

Miss Evershed took great delight in teasing him about his hatred of such things. She had witnessed his attempts to excuse himself from dancing at many a ball in the first weeks of their acquaintance but had never had occasion to witness the growing scowl on her fiance's face as the supposed celebration drew closer. The only consolation that Miss Evershed could extend towards General Pearce was the reminder that, now the month of July was upon them, the Parliament would imminently be breaking up and the social season would soon be at a close for another summer.

Quite what they were going to do about the summer itself was a conversation that had yet to be resolved. Miss Reynolds, soon to be Mrs Hunter, had decided she would like to be wed from Bath so as to be closer to the little family remaining to her. Lance-Corporal Hunter had been agreeable to the suggestion and had requested Miss Evershed accompany her charge one last time in the absence of Miss Reynold's own mother who had died some years previously. Such a suggestion would not have been unwelcome had not the idea been interrupted by Miss Evershed's own engagement to Sir Harry Pearce. It was an unfortunate clash and while Miss Evershed and General Pearce were both very happy for the couple, even if others in society would not support it, they themselves had no wish to be caught up in the wedding of their good friends and shied away from the suggestion made by one of the servants that they celebrate a joint wedding. Had the familial relations been closer, two sisters perhaps, it would have been more appropriate but due to the distance in station, age and situation it was not felt by either General Pearce or Miss Evershed to be appropriate. They were both conscious of the fact that they were of more advanced years than the other couple and had no wish to invade upon – or be shadowed by – the younger couple.

A turn about the grounds of the Carter residence in the wake of an afternoon tea soon turned to the subject of the wedding and what to do about it. Malcolm had, of course, given his consent. Something that was all but a nominal gesture. He had requested the honour of performing the ceremony and Ruth entertained the idea of having the ceremony in his little parish church out beyond London. It was a small, ancient building well suited to its surroundings with a modest but loyal set of parishioners who doted on their quietly eccentric vicar.

"I just think we should wait until after the summer. Or at the very least until after Lance-Corporal Hunter and Miss Reynolds have had their wedding."

"Are you still set upon going to Bath," General Pearce asked earnestly. Were it up to him they would marry tomorrow, but he had no intention of becoming one of those husbands who habitually rode rough-shod over his wife's wishes. Patience did not come particularly naturally to Sir Harry, he was a man of action who had spent much of the last twenty years on campaign and when at war, between the battles there was still troop movements and supplies and many other things to consider. The organisation of the camp, the seemingly unlimited correspondence with the other officers, with the Navy, with the blockade at Brest and the other partners in the alliance against the Emperor. Then there was the looking after of the horses and the men, the constant worries about supply chains, discipline of the men and whether they had everything to get through the winter. It was a rare day where he was able to sit and wallow in his own thoughts.

Here in London however, the heat was getting to him. Or the changes in his personal life, perhaps. One way or another, General Pearce found it increasingly difficult to fathom what to do about Danny's father. He knew the prudent thing to do would be to discuss the matter with Lance-Corporal Hunter himself, but the prospect of Lord Hunter's betrayal raised the possibility of taking on the entire West India Lobby. Had not the government railed against the slavers, it might be argued, there would be no need of such economic under-handededness. The ending of the Slave Trade, the life's work of William Wilberforce and many others, was something that many people had thought would result in the end of the very institution of slavery itself. It was a rare plantation, given the short life expectancy of those unfortunate souls who laboured there, that was able to sustain itself without the constant fresh supply of slaves provided by the ships that crossed the Atlantic. Yet in spite of all this, new markets had been found. South America and her colonial powers had stepped in, eager to provide the precious and valuable commodity of human beings at an increased price when it was most needed. The rape of female slaves provided a constant if limited source of new human life and altogether in spite of enforcement by the Royal Navy slavery clung on in the British Caribbean. Was it such a surprise. It was a rare man of property in London who did not derive some income from the labour of slaves and many a widow and orphan survived on nought but income derived from that source, most often bequeathed to them in a will or otherwise settled upon them after their husband's death. The whole notion of slavery, while so widely accepted by so much of society as a justified economic necessity that put the black man in his rightful place was something that Sir Harry himself found a profoundly unsettling notion. Those who had lived in such jurisdictions for some time seemed to become inured to the practices and tortures that perpetuated the status quo and yet anyone coming in from the outside would find the reality of such things profoundly unsettling and shocking.

It was unfortunate for Miss Evershed that no such income or annuity had been bequeathed to her by her father. What property he had had been obtained by his efforts at war, his spoils. However after his debts had been paid there was very little left for Miss Evershed to support herself. With his own property being markedly greater and largely derived from the newly established London Stockmarket, General Pearce's intention was to immediately make a generous stipend available to his new wife, as soon as they were married. He would happily do it before they were married had Miss Evershed not been so strongly opposed to the suggestion. The notion, therefore, that they ought to put off the wedding was an unsettling one for him.

"Miss Evershed, might we not marry quietly before Miss Reynolds and Lance-Corporal Hunter make their vows. There is very little to be done and few people to invite. Altogether there cannot be more than a dozen, surely, whose presence we might desire."

"You would leave Miss Reynolds to Lord Hunter and his family, then?"

General Pearce shifted uncomfortably. "Miss Evershed, Zoe's guardian may be distant at times but he is a good man with the best of intentions."

"He is an absent man, too caught up in his own affairs to pay the attention to his ward to which she is due. Why should I not go to Bath as she requests."

"I am not suggesting that we should not go to Bath, Ruth, I am merely suggesting that we might go together. We might go to Bath after the wedding."

"I fail to see the difference, General Pearce."

General Pearce sighed heavily. "Because I might support you madam, because I might give you an allowance that would be more suitable for your station and better enable you to better support Miss Reynolds as well, because I might rent out an apartment for your comfort and security, because we might enjoy – or endure – the society in Bath over the Summer together and because I think you shall be just as qualified, if not more qualified, to support Miss Reynolds after our own union than before it. She is after all my God-daughter, Miss Evershed and I served for some years with Hunter. I am not completely alien to the challenges of the situation to which she has committed herself. Has it not occurred to you that I, too, should like to be there? And what do you imagine we should do without chaperones or company while we are there together? You know quite well I could not conscience doing anything further to harm your reputation beyond that which I have done already and Catherine is not presently able to travel. Until she comes out of mourning there is very little she can do."

Miss Evershed paused and stared off into the distance. "Marry before going to Bath?"

"That is my proposal, yes," Sir Harry pushed. Was she, he dared hope, about to acquiesce to his request?

"I'll consider it," Miss Evershed nodded.

Sir Harry let out a sigh of relief and his lips slid into a small smile, "Thank you." He knew Miss Evershed was the sort of person who had to weigh up all the options before coming to a decision about something. Harry could only hope that she would come to the same conclusion that he had.

"At least I may have some confidence that you can deal with some prudence with our financial affairs when required."

"Our financial affairs?" Ruth queried.

"Miss Evershed, as my wife you will have responsibility over my estate, a not inconsiderable estate I might add, whenever I am indisposed. I would not give you that responsibility if I did not think you were up to the task."

"O-of course. If that is your wish."

"It is. Much of my wealth is invested in the stock market. A certain amount is private wealth which is managed as gold, jewels and suchlike and the rest is predominantly the spoils of war."

Beside Sir Harry, Miss Evershed was wringing her hands, unsure if she was now entitled to challenge Sir Harry's ideas. As his wife her place would be to support him in whatever his decision was for her future, but he seemed interested in her input and so nervously built up the courage to speak her mind. "Its not that I'm opposed to the wedding, General. I'm not sure I like the idea of Bath for a honeymoon. I should prefer some place quieter. With fewer eyes," Ruth said, a blush rising to her cheeks. The newfound intimacy of marriage was something she was anticipating with both nerves and excitement. Sir Harry had, thus far, been nothing but gentle with her and as she made her suggestion he stopped and Ruth found herself once more under the warm, steady gaze of his mellow eyes.

In spite of having not actually formally agreed to the arrangement, Ruth soon found herself so immersed in preparation for the event that there was little doubt it would be going ahead as planned. Sir Harry had insisted that all expenses should be billed to him, something that filled her with trepidation the first few times she made the request at various shops. Now that the announcement had been made Ruth found for almost the first time in her life that people noticed her wherever she went. The new clothes that Sir Harry had illicitly paid for were a welcome addition to her aging wardrobe and Miss Evershed was able to walk out in society with some shred of dignity left, hoping against hope that no one had caught wind of either the assault by Lord Hunter or the impropriety around her spending a night at Sir Harry's lodgings.

Unfortunately for all concerned, the events around the maid Beth Bailey's death could not be concealed forever and when Miss Evershed entered her favourite glover's shop there was a gaggle of younger married women who fell silent as soon as she entered. They whispered amongst themselves, looking furtively in her direction while Ruth discussed her order with the shopkeeper and then approached as soon as the attendant left to prepare her order, insisting they had met at a ball some weeks previously. Miss Evershed turned the assertion over in her mind and was quite unable to recall the supposed meeting just as the ladies laid into her with a series of questions about her household, her maid's death and her betrothal to General Pearce. In the end Ruth dismissed them rather curtly as soon as her order was ready. She was grateful to see Callum waiting outside the door whereupon she offloaded her purchases into his arms and hastily exited the precinct.

With little to be done to pursue Lord Hunter until some sort of plan of action was formed, Ruth immersed herself in the household preparations. Sir Harry intended to move in as soon as the wedding ceremony was complete and there was much to be done. Her father's bedroom and study had largely gone untouched since his passing. It had simply been too difficult for Ruth to contemplate changing them in any regard. Yet the forthcoming nuptials gave her a sense of purpose that she had previously lacked, enabling her to focus on the minutiae of practicalities to be sorted. Sir Harry's things would mostly be brought over in the week leading up to the wedding, which was to be in Malcolm's small parish in East Sussex. With no family of her own remaining, it had been agreed that Malcolm's mother would assist her on the morning before the wedding.

Neither Miss Reynolds nor Lance-Corporal Hunter would be in attendance, nor would the distant guardian Mister Lucas North be present, nor the Right Honourable William Towers or any other member of the government or monarchy. Mr and Mrs Carter, alone, were to travel down for the wedding and witness the ceremony. Ruth felt rather self-conscious about the whole thing and was not sorry that the congregation would be so small. As it happened, she thought she preferred it that way. The peculiar nature of their social circles being as it was primarily military and government acquaintances, would necessitate inviting a whole slew of the ruling class whom neither desired to be present on such an important day. Furthermore, with no one invited, no one could be offended that they had not received an invitation. After Miss Reynolds had decided she did not presently wish to travel, Ruth had declared to Sir Harry that there was no one further to whom she wished to extend an invitation. She found herself rather surprised by the way in which Sir Harry jumped upon the proposal. Catherine, being as she was in mourning, could not attend and Graham unfortunately could not be relied upon in any respect. Ruth had yet to meet the man who would soon become her step son and yet neither Sir Harry himself nor Miss Catherine Pearce appeared to consider that a bad thig, which particularly bemused Miss Evershed for she was perfectly aware of the reputation of the man and had already begun wondering what to do about the boy.

As she sat in her bedroom perusing the letter that asserted this very thing, Miss Ruth Evershed paused a moment to run her hands over the distinctive handwriting of her beloved. Her attendance at his offices had ceased since their betrothal, however Sir Harry had called upon her every two or three days whereupon they fell into the habit of taking a short walk in the local park. Sometimes they would walk arm in arm in silence, admiring the scenery and the weather and the ducks on the pond. Sometimes Sir Harry enquired about her comfort and the preparations and whether or not Miss Evershed would be agreeable to the addition of a small dog to the household. In between visits there was a regular supply of letters and Miss Evershed had grown to think of their correspondence with particular fondness. Both Sir Harry and herself had difficulty in expressing their feelings out loud and so their letters took on a new meaning when Sir Harry had begun filling his letters with declarations the like of which would never have escaped his lips. It was gratifying to know how dear he held her in his heart and yet that very notion seemed to cause him much surprise.

Miss Evershed herself had, for some time, been most strongly attracted to the General. As a rule those few men to whom she had formed some sort of attachment in the past had all been older than her, but it was more than the relative age of the parties. General Pearce in spite of his violent life carried himself with a gentleness and a warmth which melted her heart when he chose to direct it towards her person. His soft rounded features contrasted with his weather-worn skin, he was a physical man, a man of action with a broad chest and strong physical person and she found comfort in his presence. In truth, Ruth had never experienced an attraction quite like it, had never felt her stomach flutter with nerves in the hours before an anticipated visit, had never felt herself lost for words when he looked at her in a particular way and had never had such a strong desire to be in someone's physical presence.

Downstairs the doorbell rang and Ruth put down the latest of his letters and rushed downstairs to answer it herself, leaving Callum standing in the kitchen doorway as she threw open the front door to find Sir Harry standing there.

"General Pearce!"

"Miss Evershed," Sir Harry stepped forwards, his pace the picture of concern, "You are out of breath," He laid a hand on her waist and sought to usher her towards the front room. Ruth instead took the opportunity of his open arm to step closer towards his person, laid her hands on his chest and tilted her head up to press her lips against his.

Quite surprised by the gesture, Sir Harry allowed her to kiss him, enjoying the sensation of his hand wrapped around her waist until he couldn't stop the grin that broke out onto his face forcing his lips to break from hers.

"I'm quite alright, I assure you," Ruth insisted. Her heart was so light in that moment that she felt twenty years younger. "I was eager to see you, General Pearce."

"And I you," He smiled towards her with a small, formal bow. "Good morning, Miss Evershed."

Ruth broke away just far enough to curtsy in return, a small smile playing on her face in return. "Good morning, General Pearce."

"Let us go into the Drawing Room and discuss plans for the wedding. Would that be agreeable to you?"

They married as soon as Parliament broke up for the summer, a stunning summer day in July with the ladies in light linen dresses and short sleeves. General Pearce wore his best uniform, his buttons shining in the shafts of sunlight. Malcolm looked sharp in his vestments. His mother had been terribly kind to Ruth, enjoying the chance to have a daughter to dote on if only for one day. At one point Malcolm's mother had attempted to discuss the wedding night with her, whereupon Ruth had abruptly cut in to inform her that such a conversation would not be necessary. The night before the wedding had been sleepless for both Miss Evershed and Sir Harry in nervous anticipation. The morning dawned bright and sunny and Ruth and Sir Harry emerged from the old stone church with huge grins on their faces. Children threw rice and rose petals as they made their way down the path to the waiting carriage.

The journey back to London was a long one. Ruth was expecting to feel different, now that she was married but as the hedegrows and countryside passed before them Ruth had to conclude that she felt as she ever did, apart from the obvious fact that she was now sharing her life with the man she loved. She had to admit, however, that the thought of intimacy with her new husband at once terrified her and sent thrills of anticipation through her body. She looked over at him now, as they rattled through the country lanes on the way back to London and found that he was smiling softly, watching her.

"Sir?"

"Harry," He corrected. "I realise it is somewhat modern, Madam, but I think we are sufficiently intimate now to call each other by our Christian names."

"Of course...Sir Harry."

"Harry," Harry said again. "If I may call you Ruth?"

"Harry," Ruth corrected herself. It sounded very strange on her tongue. It was strange, indeed, to think of herself as being married to such a man. She was a mother now, a mother to Catherine and Graham who her husband had thus far contrived to ensure was always indisposed whenever Ruth asked to make his acquaintance.

"I did have a thought, you know, Ruth. I thought how pleasant it might be to spend some time over the summer by the sea. It looks like the weather this year might be really quite nice. I haven't been at sea for pleasure since I was a lad and it really is quite nice to look at. What do you think?"

"How do you feel about Devon?" Ruth asked.

"Do you know it well?"

"I spent much of my childhood in Exeter. It was close enough to Plymouth to travel when father was home. I was very happy there. Do you know it?"

"Only by reputation. What is it like?"

"Wild. Beautiful. There's Dartmoor within a day's travel, the beaches are very scenic, there are pretty English villages with their greens and their cricket pavillions."

"Cricket!" Harry exclaimed with excitement. "I haven't had a decent game of cricket in years!"

"Oh dear," Ruth muttered.

"What?"

"I see your plan now. I am to be a cricket widow for the summer," Ruth said.

"A cricket widow?"

"I am teasing you, husband. I can eat cucumber sandwiches at the edge of the outfield and read the latest works of the natural sciences. Only last week my old tutor, Mrs Margaret Bryan of Blackheath, wrote me enclosing a fascinating paper by Mister Ewart, 'On the measure of moving force'. With your permission, of course."

Sir Harry laid his hand on his wife's hands which were currently wringing together and settled them. "My dear, I am a soldier. I have been so all my life. I am perfectly aware of your superior education and it may be the case that oftentimes I may not have the slightest idea what you're talking about, but I will not have you thinking I would prefer a stupid wife. You have my permission to read as much as you like only," Harry dropped his voice, "Be so good as to inform me as to anything of questionable legality at some point. We may need to hide them."

Ruth giggled. "Harry, I am quite sure I don't possess anything of the sort!"

"Really. How disappointing," Harry pouted. "I shall have to buy you some then. I have quite good connections, you know."

Silence settled in between them and they watched the world go by with the steady rhythm of horses hooves on the compacted dirt of the old country roads. After a while the countryside gave way to villages, which gave way to towns, which gave way to the great City of London. By the time they arrived at Ruth's townhouse it was nearly nightfall. Sir Harry Pearce's things had been brought over by the servants from his rooms in Whitehall and Catherine had been so good as to send a few extra staff to get everything in order before the new master arrived to reside for the first time.

As soon as their carriage pulled up outside the house burst into action, a bustle of activity, of servants running up and down stairs, stoking the fires and ensuring the correct placement of the best polished silver. Ruth was quite astonished at the transformation. She hardly noticed Callum opening the door for the newlywed couple. The rugs in the hallway had been cleaned and beaten. The floors polished to a brilliant shine. The dust was gone, the metal fixtures - from the lamps to the door handles - glistened in the candlelight. Gone were the short tallow candles Ruth had made do with since her father's death and in their place wax candles sat alight in every available candle holder. Silverware dishes and candelabras had appeared in the dining room which was set with new linens and napkins.

"I took the liberty of adding a few things to the household for the sake of our comfort."

"A few things..." Ruth said, the words almost lost to her as she stared around in wonder.

"Some silverware, some household linens. Catherine and Mrs Carter arranged for a selection of the household staff at my late wife's home to assist here in order to make everything ready. I have also the intention of renovating the small stables at the end of the lane which I believe comes with the property. We shall have to go to the horse market at some point and purchase a mare for you."

"Harry..."

"You dislike it," Harry clenched his fists. He had been afraid of this very thing, that his wife was used to her house being a certain way. Dusty, disordered, cold. It was not the living she deserved but he was prepared to be stubborn on the matter.

"I do not dislike it, I am only concerned about the money."

"We can discuss our household finances in the morning. Suffice it to say that you need not concern yourself that wax candles and enough firewood to light the fires is beyond our means and as my wife, Lady Pearce, you shall have the comforts to which you are entitled. There shall be wax candles in the candlesticks and we shall light every fire place at night. We shall repaint the masonry and the railings where it is peeling and at some point I even intend to persuade you to allow someone to dust your beloved books. We shall fix up the mews in the lane and employ sufficient staff to look after our comforts. A budget of a few hundred a month should suffice but we can look at that again once I have the receipts for expenses."

"A few hundred?" Ruth gasped. "A month!"

Harry, with some amusement, curled a finger under his wife's chin and nudged her jaw closed.

Ruth glared at him. On the one hand it was rather flattering to have so much money spent on her. At the same time having such expenses to hand was not something to which she was accustomed and it was rather alarming to think of the cost, evening knowing that Sir Harry was quite wealthy.

"Well, at least I know now you didn't marry me for my money!" Harry joked. He took off his travelling cloak and handed it to the nearest male servant. "Lady Pearce will need assistance with her boots."

"I'm fine," Ruth insisted.

"You are a Lady and I shall have my wife act as one," Harry insisted. "Ruth, I am aware that you are accustomed to doing much by your own hand but I shall at the very least expect you to cooperate with a ladies maid."

Ruth let out a short sharp sigh that announced her displeasure but as absurd as the idea seemed to her, she consented to sit down in one of the chairs that had appeared in the hallway since she had last been at home and allowed a female servant to remove her boots and replace them with indoor slippers while in another chair directly opposite, her new husband replaced his boots with soft leather shoes and requested a few minutes to freshen up from the road before dinner.

Finally alone in her room, Ruth was able to lie back on her bed and enjoy the peace and solitude of her own comfortable abode. In here, at least, everything was as much as it ever was. The sheets on the bed were fresh and well-laundered and Ruth pressed her cheek against the cool linens. She had five whole minutes of solitude before one of the new household servants came bustling in with a bowl of warm water and a towel and asked her what she would like to wear for dinner. Ruth sighed a heavy sigh. It had been a long day and it would be some time still before she could retire and even longer, she suspected, before she could sleep. This was to be Sir Harry's strategy then, to wear her out before they had even got as far as the wedding night!

Dinner was served in the dining room at eight o'clock and to own the truth, Ruth had never realised her own home could look quite so grand. The drapes looked quite different now they had been washed thoroughly. Empty spaces on the walls were now filled with gold-framed pictures of the sea and Ruth was sure she had glimpsed one or two by Mister Turner. Of course, her husband owned the property now and she should have expected him to dispose of it as he saw fit. She had just not expected him to take charge quite so swiftly. Or with so much money.

"You are thinking very loudly, Lady Pearce. Is the soup not to your liking?"

"The soup is quite lovely, Sir Harry. I was only thinking on the remarkable change in the property since I departed for Sussex not two nights ago."

"Ruth, I am sorry to have gone over your head so, but I want to see you living in comfort. I did not wish an argument over every tallow candle and dusting rag."

"I would not have argued over every dusting rag," Ruth replied, making an effort to sip her soup. On the one hand her stomach was telling her it was hungry. On the other hand her insides were in such knots over the unexpected state of the house and the events of the night to come that she found it difficult to swallow the slightest morsel of food.

Instead of appearing angered at his wife's disagreement, or descending into an argument, Sir Harry's expression betrayed a certain sort of amusement at this expression of her character.

"Do you know, I was thinking as we came into London this afternoon that Exeter is not far from Bath. Within easy travelling distance, certainly."

Ruth looked up with interest.

"Just a thought," Harry smiled, knowing Ruth was thinking of Miss Reynolds and her wedding to Mister Hunter. In truth, as the girl's Godfather he could not very well absent himself from the proceedings and if the nuptials coincided with the possibility of having a few private weeks in the country with his new wife then the event could only be agreeable to all concerned.

"I could write to some friends and make enquiries about a suitable residence. There are plenty of friends who would happily welcome us into our home but I suspect you would prefer that we rent somewhere for a few weeks."

"I would," Harry agreed.

"I shall see to it after dinner," Ruth said.

"You shall see to it tomorrow. You are exhausted from the day's travels," Harry told his wife. "You shall need your rest."

Once more, Ruth frowned at being over-ruled. It was, she knew, nothing worthy of complaint. Every disagreement had so far been over her welfare but she was growing concerned that Sir Harry had every intention of wrapping her in swaddling clothes and never letting her do the slightest of things.

The rest of the dinner was marvellous. It had been a long time since Ruth had been able to afford such excellent cuts of meat, nor had she ever had such delicious food served on such an exquisite service. After a main course of beef there was a final course of summer fruits and then the port. Harry indicated that he should like her to sit with him instead of withdrawing but apart from a few items of smalltalk, very little was said between them. A footman that Ruth had never set eyes on before in her life served them through dinner and cleared their things away. Ruth stared at the walls, at her hands, at anywhere but Harry. Apart from his gentle hand on hers in the carriage they had hardly touched all day and it was difficult to think now, after such distance between them, of what must come next once they had retired.

"I wondered if I might go up and read for a while, Harry," Ruth said quietly.

"Hmm?" Harry had been lost in his own thoughts but looked up at Ruth's expectant face and nodded. "Of course, Ruth."

The way in which he addressed her was yet another point that stuck in Ruth's mind. On the one hand it was a marker of intimacy to address one another by one's Christian names. On the other hand, there had been no terms of endearment between them. Not a single 'dear' or 'my darling' as she might have expected. Yet as she rose to take her leave Harry called her over and stared at her with such a look of adoration, that Ruth wondered how she could have ever doubted his feelings. She leaned in slightly and when her husband made no objection, pressed her lips against his.

"Ruth, you're shaking."

"Its nothing."

Harry sighed and took her hand. "Ruth, you need not make yourself nervous about tonight. We have both had a long day and we have the rest of our lives to become familiar with each other. If you would permit me, however, I should like to visit you for a while. Would that be agreeable to you?"

"Yes, Harry."

"I'll see that the house is locked up and follow you shortly."

Ruth curtsyed and Sir Harry watched his wife depart, listening to her footsteps on the staircase and up to the room that lay directly above his head. In the quiet as the servants silently went about their work, clearing up after dinner and sorting out the kitchen, extinguishing candles and closing the shutters on the windows. Deciding to let them get on with their work, Sir Harry stood and removed himself from the dining room. He climbed the stairs and found his wife's door closed although there was the murmur of quiet conversation between Ruth and Jo, the only servant that Ruth would conscience taking the position of her new ladies maid. After loitering for a moment in the hallway, Sir Harry approached his new bedroom and opened the door.

The former sleeping quarters of Admiral Evershed were finely appointed. Oak panels that had begun to darken lined the walls below the dado rail. The upper parts of the walls were painted a slightly pinkish white that Harry detested. The appointment of the house indicated that Admiral Evershed had clearly gone to some expense to try and portray the sort of lifestyle that many senior officers felt they had to be seen to be living. The fact that such a lifestyle might be beyond the modest wages of a military officer was probably a contributing factor in the difficult financial situation in which his wife had found herself before their nuptials. Yet it was still sound and needed only a little updating. This room, unfortunately, was a touch damp. The fire had clearly not been lit for some time but Sir Harry was confident that will a little regular use the room would soon be warm and welcoming again and he had a thought to consult Ruth on decorating the upper parts of the wall with the sort of steam-pressed wallpaper that he had seen in France last year.

Callum arrived, having checked the doors and windows were locked and he carried with him a decanter of Sir Harry's favourite whisky and a cut crystal tumbler. He sipped it as Callum helped him undress and when Callum turned away to deal with Sir Harry's clothing – hanging the jacket, folding the breeches, taking the dirty shirt to be washed - Sir Harry slipped into a nightshirt and gown and lit the bedside candle from the fixture on the wall. With Callum gone, Sir Harry finished his nightcap, blew out the lights and padded barefoot down the hall with his nightlight. He tapped gently on the door.

"Enter." Ruth's voice. She was alone.

Sir Harry turned the handle and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Not for the first time in his life, but for quite possibly the most important one, Harry turned around, with his nightlight in hand, to face the new Lady Pearce's scrutiny.

His wife, Ruth, was already tucked up in bed wearing only a nightgown with a book in her lap that she was reading by the light of one of the new wax candles. He looked at the small bed and thought of asking her if she would be more comfortable in the master bedroom but he hesitated and then decided not to pursue the matter. This had been Ruth's residence for many years and she would surely be most comfortable in her own chamber. Harry looked up at her then and attempted a small, if nervous, smile.

"Good evening, Lady Pearce."

A small smile back, "Good evening, Harry."

Harry nodded, pleased at the positive nature of this first interaction and felt comfortable enough to progress forwards a few steps. "May I join you?"

"It is your right," Ruth said simply.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the tension gather across his forehead and reminded himself to stay patient. Ruth was not Jane. She was not spiteful in nature or deceitful it was simply that this was new to her and she was unsure of how things would be between them now that they were wed. After a lifetime of independence, Ruth had given her whole person and all her property over to him. It was quite understandable that his new wife might harbour some concerns and reservations. He wanted to reach out his hand to her but he could read the tension in her shoulders. Instead he placed his nightlight on the small cabinet on the near side of the bed and sat down upon the edge of the mattress. "Ruth," Harry said, with a softness in his voice that cracked slightly as he spoke. "Would you prefer that I retire to my own chamber tonight?"

"No, of course not. You must excuse me, I don't know what came over me."

Harry attempted to read his wife's peculiar behaviour. Her careful language, her refusal to meet his eye. Ruth clung to the book in her lap with white knuckles. She feared him. The thought shattered his heart. A lump welled up in his throat. Someone, some man, had given her cause to fear and when he found out who it was he was going to skin them alive. He didn't know what to say, he feared that if he opened his mouth he would inevitably give vent to the white hot ire coursing through his veins but in that moment he felt brave enough to reach a palm out across the bed brushing the very tip of his little finger against the tight fist of her hands, just touching and no more. It was the gentlest and briefest of contacts sending sensational tingles dancing across their skin.

Harry watched his wife glance up at him sideways in that tentative way of hers, her pale blue eyes betraying her surprise at his gentility and it brought a smile to his lips. He had a feeling that simply informing her of the sort of husband he intended to be for her would illicit no veritable belief in his sincerity. He would, therefore, exercise self-restraint in order to, he hoped, prove himself worthy of her trust.

Across the bed a little of the tension eased from Ruth's shoulders and her hand relaxed slightly, falling open at her side. Separated by candlelight and the whole width of the bed, Harry could not resist teasing the delicate skin on the inside of her palm, running his middle finger in circles around the most sensitive part of her hand.

"Oh!" Ruth jerked her hand away in astonishment and in spite of his best efforts a small chuckle escaped him at her reaction. His amusement seemed to affect something in Ruth for she looked up at him then and their eyes met and all of a sudden she let out the most delicious burst of giggles and his heart swelled in his chest as he used everything in his power to commit the sound of her laughter to memory. Feeling more hopeful, now, about the direction things might take that night, Harry put his nightlight down on the bedside cabinet and sat himself down on the edge of the bed. Harry's finger found her palm again and he repeated the gesture at which point Ruth slid her fingers through his and joined their hands together.

As Harry had hoped if he was very still and very gentle, Ruth took it upon herself to go on a quest of discovery, gathering all the information she could and he watched her as she examined his palm, his fingers and pressed his palm against her own noting, he could see, how much larger his were to hers.

"Soldiers hands," Harry said with an air of apology. They were worn and callused, not nearly so badly as most of his men but even a General must do some work from time to time. Her hands trailed upwards, investigating the cuff of his nightshirt, the soft skin on the underside of his wrist. "My brother always had soft hands but I have soldiers hands."

"Your brother?"

"Ben. He died."

Ruth thought, then, of the man called Peter who had almost been her step-brother, who had later killed himself. Yet another misguided suitor, declaring love like a little child who had no comprehension of the real world. Fortunately for Ruth her father had then decided against remarrying and the awkwardness could largely be forgotten. General Pearce on the other hand knew the real world inside out. He had lived in it, fought in it.

"The truth is I think I've been very lonely for a very long time," Harry began to speak. "Jane chose to sleep apart for many years. There were women, I was not a faithful husband but I think it was more than that. I think what I yearned for, what I searched for was companionship." Harry concentrated on the feel of the soft skin of her hand and raised his other to a lock of hair that was falling over her face. Gently he tucked it behind her ear and found her eyes boring into his. It scared him, those eyes, the way they stared right through his soul and he found himself tearing his gaze away to protect his heart. "I love you, Ruth," He confessed, "I love you very much."

Ruth smiled at him. She didn't say it back, she didn't want to say it just for the sake of saying it and she knew that Harry was the one who had fallen first and maybe he did love her more, but Ruth had grown to care for Harry very much and she felt there were other, better ways to show it. The words would come in time. "Come to bed, Harry."

Finally receiving the invitation he so desired, Sir Harry did as he was bid and drew back the covers of the bed and climbed inside. No sooner had he lain back against the pillows than Ruth's hand came to rest on his arm and she looked at him in such a way that Harry could not help but lean over and kiss her sweetly on the mouth. Within moments however, Ruth was opening her lips and teasing him with her tongue in a quite surprising manner. Harry drew back.

Ruth dropped her head, "Sorry."

Harry lifted her chin and cupped her face and stared in the eyes that had always been such a startling shade of blue. "You have nothing to apologise for, Madam."

"I thought perhaps it did not please you," Ruth confessed.

"Ruth, everything about you pleases me. I only wondered where you learned to kiss like that."

"Cyprus."

"Ah."

Ruth blushed and then to avoid saying anything further, leaned in and kissed her husband once more. One of her hands lifted to his chest and her palm lay flat against the very middle where his night shirt lay open. The touch of her skin on his was extremely gratifying and he pressed his own hand over hers, enjoying the warmth and the way she made his heart pound.

This time it was Ruth who pulled away, her eyes staring at him in curiosity for the way he was looking at her. "What?"

Harry smiled warmly and clasped her hand in his against his chest. "I like it when you touch me, that is all."

His words seemed to give Ruth some confidence because their lips came together once more in a deeper, passionate, heated union. Her hands gravitated to his body, one clasping the back of his neck and the other caressing the skin of his chest where his nightshirt parted, her fingers creeping underneath the edges of the fabric to discover more of the warm broad expanse of his chest. Having lived aboard a ship for some time, Ruth had seen her share of men's bare chests. Harry's was strong, he looked portly but still had the strength to wield a sword and it was decorated with a good coating of blonde hair that Ruth soon discovered she liked to weave her fingers in.

They broke apart some time later, breathless. Harry could not remove his hands from her beautiful silken locks. Now it had been let loose by the maid he caressed it and cupped her head and trailed his fingers through it. For the rest, Ruth's form was petite and lithe. She was fit and healthy and had good hips although at their age, he supposed such a thing did not matter. He had not married her for her body although he suspected that he would find great pleasure in discovering all the things about her that intimate lovers enjoyed learning. How soft, he wondered, were the back of her knees? Did the colour of her most intimate parts match that of her lips? How would she like him to pleasure her?

"Take your nightshirt off," Ruth whispered.

"Sorry?"

"I wondered...I wish to see you."

Harry hesitated. He worried it would shock her. Had she seen a male nude before? Almost certainly if she had been at sea with her father, he reminded himself. Or even if she had had occasion to view some of the ancient wonders of the world. Many an ancient temple statue was completely nude but while Harry had lived too long and survived too many horrors to be afraid of his body, neither was he under any illusions that he was now the adonis he had once been in his youth. Would he disappoint her? Would she be displeased? Would the sight of his manhood shock her?

"Harry, I am not completely insensible. You told me yourself you did not want a stupid wife. Whatever causes you to hesitate?"

"May I ask, Ruth, in the most delicate way possible: you are aware of how relations work between man and wife?"

"I lived on a shipful of sailors for two years, Harry. Unless you need reminding of the habits of sailors when they put into port?"

"I think not. I wonder sometimes at your father taking you to sea at all."

"Oh, father made it quite clear that I was not worth their while. He had a standing order that any man who came within twenty feet would be hung from the yard-arm in front of the crew and if that didn't do it one sight of the cat usually did."

"Was your ship's cat particularly fearsome?"

"I should say so. It had nine tails," Ruth said.

"Ah. Navy jokes. This is what I am to live with for the rest of my days, is it?"

Ruth smiled shyly and pulled at his collar. "Take your shirt off, Harry. Let me look on my husband."

Harry sighed a great sigh and looked into his wife's eyes for a long moment before complying. Due to the shirt coming down nearly to his ankles, Harry swung his legs off the bed and stood at the bedside to pull it over his head. He would have simply kneeled on the bed itself had his knees been up to it but they had not been for some five or six years now since a battle on the Iberian peninsula where he had taken a blow to the leg while seated on his horse. In fact as he removed the only item of clothing left on his person, he could see that Ruth's eyes gravitated not towards his manhood as he might have suspected but flitted between the myriad scars and injuries that littered his body from his many years at war.

"Your shoulder!" Ruth exclaimed and she rushed forwards, climbing out of bed to better inspect the battered, scarred remains.

"I took a musketball," Harry supplied. He watched her carefully. There were scars on his arms, scars on his knees, scars on his torso. Even his hands had seen their share of cuts and bruises. As horrific as some of his injuries must look to the uninitiated, Ruth was no innocent. He saw her assess each one and the process by which it was made. Sword, shrapnel, musket.

"Are there any more? Injuries, I mean?"

"Oh, yes, I should think so. I've cracked a few ribs more than once, broken an arm. I've been punched, kicked, fallen off my horse, stamped on...treated by Doctors..."

"Harry," Ruth admonished, "You can hardly put a Doctor into the same category as a musket shot."

"No, the musket shot is kinder."

Ruth decided that Harry was clearly going to be stubborn about this and so did the only thing she could think of doing which was to kiss him again and when she kissed him her hands went to his chest again and when they stopped kissing her hands stayed there and guided him over to the bed to lay down. It wasn't that Ruth wasn't nervous about her wedding night, but she had always been an inquisitive person and she had decided earlier as she was waiting for Harry to come through from his own chamber that she would look on it as an opportunity for study. She could not forget her husband's declarations in the early days of her acquaintence and she hoped that with a little patience he might be willing to indulge her, and so it proved. Harry did as he was bid and lay back on the bed, allowing Ruth to study his body to her satisfaction.

For Harry, he was happy to oblige his wife and reminded himself to be patient with her. The entire future of their marriage might depend on his conduct on this night and he was absolutely determined that he would not show himself to be a brute and a deviant. He would allow her to explore so that they might come together naturally as two lovers might, no matter how thin his self-control wore at times. Harry was sure it could not have escaped her notice that under her ministrations his manhood had swollen but for some considerable period of time she elected to completely ignore it until Harry pleaded with her to touch him.

Fleeting eyes glanced against his and Harry tried to give her all the reassurance he could in a single gaze. He dare not say anything further for fear that Ruth's shyness would get the better of her. Ruth was tentative at first, he could see that, but once he'd begged a little, her hand moved to his penis which lay half-hard against his thigh. Instead of doing as he wished and massaging him to further arousal, Ruth took this as a cue to explore that part of him which she had previously ignored and Harry had to concentrate on breathing very carefully as her small palms cupped and massaged his scrotum and then she discovered the sensitive spot behind, her touch sending a jolt of arousal through him that elicted the moan of pleasure he had been holding back. With half-lidded eyes he guided her hand to where he wanted it, showed her how he like to pleasure himself.

"Like this," Harry whispered, guiding her hand up and down, with a small twist at the end. "Now use your thumb."

Ruth was an attentive student. In blissful pleasure Harry lay back and closed his eyes, focusing on the paradisical sensation of his arousal and Ruth's hands giving him pleasure until abruptly it all stopped.

"Harry?"

"Yes Ruth."

Ruth hesitated. Didn't he want to kiss her again. Did he not want to explore her body. She had been anticipating this night, she had felt nerves for this night and he was just laying there...

Harry opened his eyes and saw at once dissatisfaction in her eyes. However due to the bliss swirling in his mind it took him a moment to comprehend the expression on his wife's face. He smiled to himself. Apparently she was done exploring. He was still smiling as he propped himself up on one arm so that he could kiss her properly. "Let me undress you," Harry mumbled against her lips.

With that one phrase his deep, husky voice reverberated through her body and her stomach clenched. As Harry pressed her back into the bed however, Ruth put a staying hand on his shoulder.

"Harry..."

"Yes, my love..." Harry's lips moved down to her neck. They kissed it, nipped it, licked it in a most distracting manner. Ruth attempted to push him away, she did not mean to be distracted before she had a chance to say this.

"Be gentle with me?"

Harry paused. He had forgotten, in his blissful arousal, the blind terror that had fleetingly crossed her features when he had first appeared in her chamber. "Always, Ruth."

"What I mean to say is, I know that it shall hurt a little and if I could only beg you to minimise-"

"Ruth..."

"...because I am led to understand..."

"By whom?" Harry demanded. "Ruth, the pleasures of the flesh are, surprisingly enough intended to be pleasurable and may I respectfully suggest that those who say otherwise are simply not doing it correctly."

Ruth could not help but smile at her husband's words. She had never heard it suggested by anyone that there was an incorrect way of carrying out one's marital duties and the thought was actually quite amusing.

"There are unfortunately many men who are insensible to any thought but their own pleasure and indeed if such a man was to lay with his wife on his wedding night he might force his manhood inside his wife without any thought to her comfort and quell her with his insistence that it is perfectly normal to be in pain. I like to think I am not such a man, Ruth. You must be aware of course that I have experienced intimacy before and not, God forgive me, solely with Jane."

Ruth had suspected as much, but she was soothed by the fact that he appeared genuinely contrite and had expressed more than once his desire to be a good husband to her. Ruth extended a hand of comfort to her husband's forearm. More than anything the guilt which crossed his features when he metioned such things spoke of an inner turmoil he had barely touched on in their discourse this far.

"But my experience has taught me something and that is that a woman's body is capable of a level of arousal to which many men in their selfish desires are completely insensible. So long as one incites the appropriate level of pleasure in one's partner..." Harry's hand picked up Ruth's, his thumb running gently over her small fingers. "...and one is patient, there need only be a little discomfort, I think, while one becomes accustomed to the...situation."

They stayed that way for some time, their heads bowed close together and their hands joined in a quiet moment of contemplation. After some minutes, Ruth shuffled backwards on the bed and then slowly began to lift her nightdress over her head. Silently, Harry helped her and discarded the garment at the side as he looked on his wife for the first time. She was exquisite. Small but perfectly formed. The lines of her flat stomach, the petite form of her breasts. The proportions of her legs and her hips. He found himself breathless, his eyes sweeping over her body like brushstrokes on a masterpiece. When he tried to speak, his voice was hoarse.

"Beautiful," He breathed. Previously Harry had never minded the fact that all of his women had had relations before him. Even Jane had made it quite clear that she was not a virgin on her wedding night. She had, it turned out, been hoping for the other brother. The question of whether his children were his own or Ben's had stopped mattering around about the same time that Ben had died and Jane had begun drifting away. Suddenly however, he found himself selfishly possessive of his current wife. The thought that she was his and his alone, that no man had lain with her before filled him with a surge of masculine possessiveness and he climbed over her, pressing her into the bed and pressing his lips against hers. Only when she refused to kiss him back did he falter and come back to his senses. She was quaking underneath him.

"Ruth," Harry drew back in horror. "I did not meant to...I am sorry."

"Its quite alright. I am quite alright. You only startled me a little, is all."

But it was not all. "No," Harry paused. "I think it is not all. My passion got the better of me, I apologise. The truth is, Ruth, that I find myself quite overcome by your presence, but that is the second time you have started so and while I did undoubtedly give you cause to be surprised, I hope I have never given you cause to be fearful of me. Which leads me to the inevitable conclusion that some other man has done so and I must know Ruth, before we proceed any further."

Ruth wished at that moment that she could be anywhere else but here. The scrutiny that moments before had been immensely pleasureable now was replaced with the immediate urge to cover herself and she at once climbed under the covers and pulled the linens up over her chest.

"Ruth, I mean no slight upon your honour."

"No slight upon my honour, Harry?"

"Ruth, may I tell you a secret?"

Ruth's eyes turned from glacial melt water to solid iron.

Harry sighed. In for a penny...

"Graham may not be my son. I discovered on my wedding night with Jane that she had been, for some time, in a most intimate relationship with my own brother, Ben. On my wedding night, as a newly married man, I lay with a woman whose womb was still wet with the seed of the man who had stood at my side in the church not hours before and then lay with his brother's wife in his brother's home on iour/i wedding day. I know a little of the indignities of the marriage bed, Ruth. The fact that Ben was sent away by our father as punishment for the affair means that Catherine, at least, I may possibly count as my own. Graham however was almost certainly fathered upon Ben's return..." At this point Harry tailed off. He was drifting into the past and he cleared his throat and reminded himself to stick to the present. "The point, Ruth, is that you are no Jane. You never have been and never shall be. If you so much as looked at another man with lustful thoughts you would blush so hard you would glow like Mars in the night sky. I know you, Ruth, you would sooner die than lose your honour so, if you are indeed lacking in honour it is not because you have given it away it is because some...some man...has removed it from you by force. Am I not correct?"

Ruth was very, very quiet.

"I promise you may tell me the truth without fear or censure, Ruth, so that I may perform my duties as a husband and take care of you. Love you. For I do love you. I love you with all my heart as I have never loved another. Will you tell me?"

Ruth cleared her throat. She did not want to, for surely no woman who had been attacked wanted to confess it to her husband but Ruth could not help but conclude that Harry deserved to know.

"I was attacked, by an acquaintence. I was cornered and he...he got his hand under my skirts." Ruth's eyes fell away, her voice dropping with her head. "He violated me," Her voice was quiet,"With his hands and then...he was startled. The attack stopped when he was startled. Someone came too close."

"Do I know this man?"

Ruth's silence spoke volumes.

"Ruth? Let it not be Hunter or Carter, at least?"

"No, of course not! How could you think such a thing? Adam is like a brother to me!"

"And Hunter?" Harry asked.

Ruth's fingers began to fidget with the embroidery on the bedlinen. "Not Danny," She said.

"Not Danny..." Harry mused. His brows drew together in an inevitable, horrifying conclusion.

Later, Ruth would compare the reaction of her new husband to the time she had witnessed the eruption of Mount Etna on Sicily.

"Lord Hunter?" Harry exploded, jumping right out of bed. "I swear to God I am going to skin that bastard alive, if its the last thing I do!"

Slowly, as Harry ranted and shook with visceral anger, Ruth slid out of bed and walked across the floor. Without saying anything she laid a gentling hand on him and all the anger seemed to shrink. It was still there, but Ruth could see it being pushed down replaced with a sort of stillness. The power Ruth had over him was almost supernatural, but with her by his side all else paled into insignificance.

"Harry...come to bed?"

"Ruth, that man assaulted you! He hurt you! He violated you!"

"Yes, he did Harry but he is not here tonight and you are and I will not have that man discussed in my bedchamber. I wish to enjoy my wedding night with my husband."

Harry nodded and allowed her to take his hand and lead him back to bed. She pulled the covers back first and lay down, facing him. He could see in her eyes that this was it, that somehow he had proven himself to her, he could see she wanted him and her bright blue eyes had him transfixed. Like a man hypnotised he did her bidding, sliding in between the the covers and close to her. Harry kissed her, their lips wet and sensuous in the candlelight. She was soft now, receptive to him and with one arm propping him up over her body he lifted his other hand to caress the soft skin of her throat. Ruth hummed under his attentions and lifted his hand, placing it over her mons. Her eyes opened, staring at him with clear intent and Harry's fingers parted her lips for the first time and found her most intimate place wet and warm for him. He spread the wetness he found, gently caressing her with his self-confessed soldiers hands and she moaned in response. He touched her clitoris and her hips surged towards his hand. Reading Ruth's body, he carefully teased her entrance with a finger, stroking around her entrance and then inside her, arousing her and stretching her. He removed the finger and tried again with two.

"Oh!"

"Its alright, Ruth, just relax. Your body will adjust."

"Your fingers are bigger than mine!" The words were out before Ruth could stop them and she immediately blushed, which was somewhat amusing given Harry's current position.

"Are they indeed?" Harry leaned down and offered his lips to her once more. To Harry's immense pleasure Ruth's tongue soon began to tease him and her passion for kissing his lips soon made her lose any tension that the unusual sensation of his larger fingers had caused. Her body relaxed around his digits and he began to massage the walls of the hot, wet, secret place that would soon be his. Under his hand she moaned and bucked and clenched her muscles and Harry added a thumb to tease her clit. He concentrated solely on her pleasure, reading her body and responding and stepping up his ministrations each time she seemed ready. Before long she was fucking herself on his hand, whimpers of pleasure escaping her lips as the sound of flesh on flesh echoed around the bedchamber. Harry lay close, enjoying watching her and the pleasure gracing her features. He was hot and hard and he wanted her and he would have her, but after this. After this. After this she would be ready.

Ruth closed her eyes and gasped as white hot pleasure tingled in her limbs, radiating outwards. More pleasure than she had ever been able to achieve on her own but every time she felt herself about to tip over the edge Harry's hand would slip out and he would drip soft words in her ear until her body cooled and he would let her have his fingers again until she couldn't stand it anymore and desired, most fervently, to have her pleasure.

"Say please, Ruth," Harry nibbled her ear.

"Please..." It was whispered on a breath but once more his fingers slid inside her and this time instead of letting Ruth take the lead Harry's fingers mercilessly sought out her pleasure centres. With his eyes fixed on her face he fucked her with his hand, his thumb on her clit bringing her to the edge until she shattered and cried out into the night and still her husband's hand worked, shattering her again and again until she was so wrung out from pleasure and oversensitive that she put his hand on his wrist and begged him to stop.

Harry pulled his hand away and used it to shift her leg, parting her so that he might look on her womanhood and stroked himself under her gaze until he was fully erect. A small glance at her and he got a tiny nod in return. He would be gentle, he would not have her afraid of him but he would not hide from her. Carefully he lay himself between her legs so that his manhood pressed against her thigh and then he kissed her, because he could not bring himself to look on her lest he should hurt her, and wetted the tip of his erection on her wetness before pushing gently against her body. Harry felt the whimper of discomfort as the head forced its way inside and then stopped.

The kiss broke off. He waited and said nothing. Eventually when no reaction came he nuzzled her face with his own and Ruth's body relaxed. A sigh escaped her and her breathing evened out as if she was more in control of herself. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before. Strange. Different. She could feel her body stretching around him as he pressed his way inside and it did cause some discomfort but Harry was right, there was no pain.

Harry said nothing and she couldn't bear to open her eyes to look at him. She had expected this to be a duty, to be at best boring and at worst painful. It was slightly uncomfortable, her body had never accepted a man in this way before and she bit her lip and closed her eyes, willing the feeling to pass.

Harry leaned down and kissed her eyelids. "Move your hips up a little."

She did so and Harry responded. Small movements, a gentle rhythm that allowed her husband to work his way inside as her body stretched for him until he was seated and she felt full and whole, for the first time in her life. Ruth was at that moment infinitely glad that Harry had been so careful to give her pleasure first. Had she been unprepared for this she though it could be quite painful and unpleasant. As it was, the sensation was strange but oddly good. Something sparking through her led her to clench her muscles and on top of her Harry let out a deep groan and let his head fall beside hers on the pillow. She felt the brush of his hair next to her, the soft breaths on her bare skin, the ridge of the head of his penis against the sensitive skin inside her.

Slowly, Harry pulled out. Slowly he slid back in again. Every breath, every groan rang in her ears. Under his encouragement Ruth responded to the gentle rhythm and moved her body with his. It was strange, new...and rather sensational. On top of her, her husband changed the way he moved his hips sparking fire inside her body but the wonderous feeling got away from her as his pace began to pick up and Ruth struggled to keep up. She felt full and stretched on the knife edge between pain and pleasure and she didn't know what he wanted and it was beginning to get a bit uncomfortable...

"Harry..."

And then a geat groan escaped her husband and there was the oddest sensation inside her as he stilled completely and filled her, she realised, with his seed.

Harry lay above her for a while, holding himself up on his elbows, his member still inside her. Ruth opened her eyes, wondering if he had fallen asleep and when she looked at him his eyes struggled to focus on hers, "I'm sorry, my love," He whispered and then his hands were on her in the most intimate way and once more bringing her pleasure and kissing her when she cried out. "I'll do better, next time."

Ruth wasn't sure what that meant, but she enjoyed the pleasure her husband brought her and the rest of it, Ruth had nothing with which to compare it. There was some discomfort and some pleasure, but she supposed she would get used to it with time. Right now she was warm and her whole body tingled with warmth and there was a closeness between them that hadn't been there before. A union.

Yet Harry avoided her eyes. Beside her, her husband had moved to lie on his side. One of his hands sought out hers and Ruth rolled onto her side to face him. Her thighs were wet and he quietly slipped out of bed and fetched a cloth to attend to her, apologising to her all the time.

"Harry," She said at length, "Hush. Lie down."

Harry merely nodded and climbed back in. "That wasn't...its meant to take a little longer. I lost myself there, for a moment..."

His apologies fell on deaf ears as his wife snuggled into his side and lay her head on his chest, regardless. Harry's embarrassment seemed not to matter a whittle to her and Ruth stared in astonishment as she curled up at his side. Harry realised he was unable to remember the last time he had lain with a woman and been welcome enough to sleep at her side. Not with Juliet. Not with Jane. Not with any of the married women he had frequented while his wife saw married men. It was...nice.

Beside her, Ruth found comfort and closeness with her husband. It wasn't so bad, it was in fact something that Ruth suspected she could grow to enjoy very much and she was sure that there was a new found closeness between them after consumating their marriage and sharing such intimacy. With the comfort of her new pillow, and the warmth of Harry's hazel eyes in her mind, Ruth sighed and closed her eyes.

She didn't remember falling off to sleep, but when she woke later she was lying on her other side and there was a weight against her back and the sensation of warm flesh and skin-on-skin. Harry's arms felt good, they felt safe and as she awoke she became aware of the physical evidence that he had brought her pleasure in ways she had never experienced before. It was still pitch black and the candles were out but his hand fell on her hip and Ruth realised Harry must be awake as well. His lips nibbled the back of her neck, than hand on her hips slid down to caress between her legs.

"Ruth..." Harry whispered. Her name carried everything, all his love, all his pent up desire for her.

Ruth wanted him too, she realised. Her body hummed in anticipation, the wetness growing between her legs as he fingered her clitoris. His name escaped from her lips, a gasp of pleasure, and Ruth could feel his manhood nudging against her buttocks. "Harry..."

Ruth had expected him to let her go so that she might turn to face him in order to carry out their marital duties in the proscribed manner as they had done before but to her great surprised he pulled her body close to his and thrust in from behind. He was attentive, he was alive to her wishes but he was less gentle this time with long, deep determined strokes that soon had her whimpering with pleasure. Harry said nothing, adjusting the way he moved inside her until he seemed to find all the ways that sent sparks of fire soaring through her. He moved deeply inside her, insistently, the sound of their bodies smacking together in union with the sound of the mattress creaking. Ruth reached her hand back and caressed his hair, needing to touch Harry when they were joined so intimately and then when she couldn't hold off her pleasure any longer he pulled out until her orgasm had lulled and then slid back in. Ruth ground her hips down against him seeking the way he had pleasured her not moments before and Harry responded by grabbing her hips with bruising fingers and thrusting hard. This time his attentions were hard and fast and nothing like their union before. It was slightly uncomfortable with the way he filled her so completely and yet she soon found herself crying out with pleasure as her husband let out an animalistic grunt and his seed filled her in long, thick, heavy pulses.

This time Harry did not part from her but fell asleep almost instantly exactly where he was. Ruth closed her eyes, her body cruising the residual wave of bliss that washed through her and pondering on how it felt to be a married woman as she once more slipped into unconsciousness, their bodies pressed close together in their union.


	11. Chapter 11

~o0o~

Chapter 11

~o0o~

 

Lady Ruth Pearce awoke in a familiar bed in a familiar room to the sight of a familiar man in her bed. Said man had his head propped up on one hand and was smiling softly at her as she awoke.

“Good morning, darling.” Sir Harry said to his wife and he leaned down and kissed her gently on her cheek as she awoke.

Ruth took him in and then looked around the room. The sun was clearly well above the horizon. She guessed it must be a good bit into the morning and the maid had not awoken her early. There was no fire lit in the fireplace.

Sir Harry noticed the direction of his wife's gaze. “I think they had enough sense not to disturb us this morning. Are you cold?”

Ruth sighed. She would usually have been up for hours by now but the joyous feeling of awakening next to her darling Harry after a good night's sleep and the blissful remembrance of the night before was putting too much happiness in her head to allow her to be angry. “No,” Ruth smiled. She turned her head to look at Harry, his weather- beaten face and the dusting of hair on his chest.

“I love you very much,” Harry told her.

Ruth stretched over and Sir Harry met her halfways for a warm, sensuous kiss. His arm wound around her waist and Ruth rolled back into the pillows and Harry grinned into the kiss as her arms began to run up and down his back. After a while the kiss broke apart, each of them panting for breath. Harry looked down on his new wife with a twinkle in his eyes.

“What?” Ruth searched his features.

“Nothing.”

“You have to tell me now, Harry!”

Harry paused. “I had something in mind I thought we might try.”

“Oh? Why do I get the feeling this isn't entirely proper?”

Sir Harry Pearce licked his lips deliciously slowly and then began kissing his way down his wife's body. Ruth felt at first rather embarrassed but as her husband's attentions brought her more pleasure, Ruth decided she might be willing to give this mysterious new expression of matrimony a try.

 

An hour or so later, Ruth blushed furiously over her breakfast, which was less to do with what had happened that morning and more to do with what her husband was doing with his tongue to the food on his fork as he stared at her pointedly.

“Harry!”

Harry licked his lips and blinked at her. “Ruth?”

“Not in front of the servants!”

“Really?” Harry lowered his fork and stared at it with a slightly deflated air. “How disappointing.”

Beside them a footman fought back a smile and Ruth heard a maid in the hallway burst into a fit of giggles and shook her head at him. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I have a few ideas, as it happens,” Harry responded, digging into his food.

Ruth glared at him but she realised from the warmth in his eyes that he was teasing her and sighed heavily. “You're incorrigible.”

“I'm in love. Forgive an old man his folly, Lady Pearce. There are enough dark things in this life.”

Slightly chastened, Ruth reached her hand out and laid it on top of her husband's.

 

Some time later, after breakfast was finished and the last of the packing was done, Ruth was overseeing the footmen packing their luggage onto the carriage that would take them to Devon while Harry stood in the hallway making sure that everything was where it should be and overseeing the most expensive of their travelling items which would be sent ahead to Bath for the rest of the summer. It was into the midst of all the hustle and bustle that a runner arrived at the door straight from Whitehall with a letter for General Pearce.

Harry tore it open as he stood in the hallway, Ruth standing across the doorway on the top step, an expression of concern on her face. “News from America. New forts being built out west, the completion of a fort at Prarie du Chien. As I suspected The United States is continuing their expansion across the continent with pace. The British government will no doubt take it as a sign of defiance and step up their military campaing. We will fight them but we are fighting a losing battle.”

“It is marked urgent,” Ruth noted.

“Indeed it is. His Majesty's Government is most considerate in insisting I be informed yet what, precisely, am I to do about event that happened more than eight weeks ago? This news has made it across half a continent and an entire ocean. I can only imagine it was considered important in case the progress of the war would aid our assailant's cause. Indeed it might but I am not in charge of the military forces there. I have my own tasks in London and we know very well that the course of our own troubles is unlikely to be changed by events continuing as everyone suspected they would. No, it is important but there is nothing to be done about it. Not now. Those on our own side who could act on this news are too short sighted to see what they are doing and they will not hear reason. We shall to Exeter. We shall have our honeymoon and thence to Bath.”

The expression of worry never left Ruth's face until they were out of London. The trees following them on the dirt road, the harsh rhythm of horse shoes on granite morphing into the softer clop of soft dirt and mud of the countryside. Beyond London the leaves were full green, the harvest was ripening in the fields and every so often the corn and sheep and pigs would be interrupted by a cider orchard or a forest or a spread of wildflower meadow with grazing cattle or horses. They were ten miles outside the city when Ruth finally gave voice to her opinion.

“Harry, maybe we should turn back?”

“Turn back?”

“Why would they send a letter with such urgency if your presence was not required?”

Harry sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his brow. “Ruth, they are determined to have their war. They think that if you cause enough terror you can subjugate an entire continent. Once upon a time that may have been true but not now. Not with the Americas. They will fight a few battles but the present action is extremely ill-advised. I doubt not that the United States has the capacity to be an extremely troublesome neighbour but I am not of the opinion that this choice of campaign was for the best. There are still too many in France who seek the return of the exiled Emperor. We have just crushed a man who ran the whole of Europe. A man like that does not satisfy himself with an island. I have lived long enough to know the sort of men who crave power. He has his allies yet and meanwhile our main fighting force is across an ocean.”

“Harry, what about Lord Hunter?”

“What about him?” Harry snapped. He did not want to discuss him, never mind hear his name mentioned - especially after his wife's revellation the night before – but as was so often the case Ruth seemed to know exactly what to say to press the matter.

“You believe his loyalties to be with the United States?”

Harry sighed heavily. “I believe Hunter's loyalties to be with his pocket. A habit his son was unfortunate enough to inherit but Danny, unlike his father, may yet redeem himself. He has the love of a good woman, does he not, and enough sense in his head to do the right thing. What he needed was the guidance that was so lacking from his father. Lord Hunter, by contrast, is too far gone, I fear. He will go wherever he must and do whatever he must for no other end than the furtherance of his own pocket book. He will enslave and plunder. He was spy and betray and kill. It is simply that for now, the United States if offering Hunter a better deal than the United Kingdom. I wouldn't call that loyalty, as such.”

“No, I suppose not. And we know the lengths to which he will go. Harry, perhaps this isn't the time to speak of it but I fear for Zoe.”

“I know,” Harry held Ruth's hand a little tighter. “Ruth, I have a request of you.”

“A request,” Ruth repeated, a hint of hesitation in your voice.

“I am not blind, Ruth, I see how my actions irritate you. You think I am coddling you, that I am hampering your independence and I know that you did not get to where you are by being insensible to your own safety but things are different now and I fear for you.”

Ruth opened her mouth to protest.

“No, Ruth, you must see sense. I cannot bring myself to regret asking for your hand but the danger you – we – face is not the ordinary dangers a woman alone must fear. Lord Hunter has now twice tried to attack you, in his own household and yours. Your maid Beth is dead and neither of us doubt his intention when he cornered you in the garden alone. Please, be careful.”

“Harry...” Ruth stared out the window at the passing hedgerows where rural women in their bonnets and aprons were gathering summer berries. Beyond, the boys in fields were weeding the crops before harvest time. She turned back to Harry, ready with a retort but was halted by the depth of the concern in his eyes. Through gritted teeth she backed down a modicum, “I shall be careful.”

Harry stared at his wife for a long time. Steely grey eyes stared back at him with a fortitude he should have known to anticipate and then finally nodded. Seemingly satisfied, he gently laid his hand over her own and gently caressed it for much of the rest of the journey.

As they drew up in front of the large inn where Ruth and Harry would spend the night, Harry turned to his new wife before helping her out of the carriage. “I know I frustrate you sometimes. I am an old man and set in my ways. I have seen things which make me question God and my fellow men and everything else and in my former years my behaviour was not a credit to me. But I have never doubted you or the love I feel for you.”

“I know,” Ruth's brows drew together. Harry opened his mouth, it was as if he was trying to say something else but at that moment the door of the carriage was opened by a stable boy from the inn and Harry was obliged to exit and assist his wife down. Their things were quickly hurried inside by porters and as they exited the carriage the stable boys were already unfastening the horses to be led to the barn for food and water.

The inn they had chosen was modest but well appointed enough to make it an acceptable establishment for people of respectable standing to spend the night while journey across the country. The beds were generally clean and free of bugs. There was always plenty of logs by the fire, well-run stables for the horses and a pot of hot stew in the kitchen. With the warm balmy evenings of summer however, the fire had not been lit and there was still a hint of light in the sky as they entered the inn for a spot of supper.

“General and Lady Pearce,” Harry told the man who greeted them. “We would like one room for the night plus supper and breakfast.”

Ruth suppressed a smile at the request of a single room. Clearly Harry had no intention of sleeping apart tonight. Catching her eyes he seemed surprised by her scrutiny. “What?”

“You,” Ruth hooked her hand around his arm.

Harry still seemed rather bemused as to what had caused his wife's mirth. He was hardly going to leave Ruth to her own devices in a strange tavern in a part of the world with which neither of them was familiar. As it was, they found that the food was humble but tasty and the bed was clean and comfortable enough to retire early. Ruth read by the fire for a while while Harry amused himself by writing a letter to a military acquaintence in Plymoth. When it came to be time to prepare for bed, Ruth glanced nervously towards Harry, wondering if she should call a maid to assist her with undressing.

“Harry,” Ruth spoke up. She watched him put down his quill. “I require some assistance.”

Sir Harry Pearce looked over at his new wife. “Would you like me to call you a maid?”

Ruth wavered over her decision. “Uh...well...I was thinking that since you're here already...” Ruth's nervous eyes darted around the room at her packing case, the dressing screen in the corner and the modestly sized bed that dominated the room and then back to her husband.

Harry waited for a moment, expecting Ruth to change her mind. His wife was naturally shy and not entirely used to his presence just yet. However when no further prevarication was forthcoming he rose slowly and took a step towards her. “I am of course at your service, Ruth, if I can be of any assistance.”

The smile he received from Ruth in return for his words was a warm, welcome smile of relief and Harry was gratified to realise he had for once made the correct decision. As a man who had so often been quite sure of himself at war and in his professional life, Ruth Evershed had always had the capacity to throw him off rather and make him question himself in a manner to which Sir Harry was entirely unaccustomed.

They said very little after that. Sir Harry's gentle hands patiently worked at the myriad ribbons, ties and buttons that made up his wife's outfit and he helped her into a nightgown. He would have liked to have more time to spend intimately but a yawn cracked open her jaw and after a long day's travelling, Sir Harry bid her rest and soon joined her in bed himself. There would be time enough, he supposed, once they were on their honeymoon. Travelling was a tiring business and Ruth could be forgiven for feeling too exhausted for marital relations.

He must have drifted off with his thoughts, for when Harry awoke it was just getting light. A cockeral was crowing outside and downstairs a carriage was being prepared for another guest's departure. He came around to the sight of his wife, wrapped up in a house coat, ushering a maid in with a basin of warm water and towels. Harry's shaving kit was one of the things he was never without on his frequent travels with the military and once he had washed and shaved he felt rather more alive than he had upon waking. Wanting to make the most of the abundant summer daylight, Harry and Ruth helped each other dress and then had their things taken down and the carriage prepared while they headed down to the main room of the inn for a breakfast of bacon, eggs and fried bread. Sir Harry had coffee, Lady Ruth had tea.

With the fair summer weather and good roads, they made fine progress to Devon and by the end of the day the carriage was drawing into a fine sized modern cottage with two stories and a large garden overlooking the sea. A wall around the grounds protected it from the worst ravages of the British weather. The walls of the house and garden were graced with trained roses and apple trees and a small greenhouse bore a couple of hardy peach trees.

As they pulled in, the sun was setting over the ocean and Ruth gasped at the beauty of seeing the sea once more. “Oh, how I've missed it!”

“It is rather a fine cottage,” Harry agreed. “Have you been here before?”

“The sea, Harry! I meant the sea!”

Harry chuckled, “Of course you did.”

“The cottage belongs to a school friend. She's with her husband in Bath at the moment.”

“Indeed,” Harry mused, taking in the deserted surroundings. He had made the arrangements on his new wife's suggestion but was quite surprised at the isolated beauty of the place. “The town is, I believe, some miles away.”

“Three miles, Harry, an easy distance to walk.”

Ruth noted her husband looked slightly alarmed and tried not to be too amused at his horror of exercise. “Honestly, for someone who spent most of his life on exercises I do wonder at you sometimes. I have it on good authority that there are comfortable beds and a full pantry. What more could we want for a few days? And tomorrow, or the day after, we can walk into town if you like.”

“And if I don't like?”

“Then I shall walk into town...”

“And I'll walk with you,” Harry sighed, realising his wife had him by the balls. He had never quite come to appreciate exercise for its own sake. Exercise was a chore, like moving a camp full of soldiers. It was an effort to be minimalised wherever possible. The prospect of doing such a thing for pleasure was entirely beyond him but Ruth seemed determined to experience the outdoors while they were here. He supposed if France did declare war again, they might at least have the satisfaction of being the first to witness the invasion for the view over the channel from here was remarkably good.

“Will you?” Ruth looked faux surprised. “Walk with me?”

Harry wondered if this was his punishment for his concern, concern he knew she felt stifled by but he didn't know how turn it off. Ruth was so determined, so independent in spirit that her every move almost sent his heart into conniptions.

Beside Harry, Ruth leaned up on her tip toes and kissed him sweetly on the cheek. “That's very sweet of you, Harry.”

Harry grumbled under his breath, which seemed to cause his wife some amusment. Well, at least one of them was getting some pleasure out of this.

True to their word, the pantry was indeed full and the beds made up. There were no permanent staff here, but it had been arranged that a girl from a nearby farm would come over for a couple of hours in the afternoon in order to do the housework. A gardener visited once a week, and other than that they would be left on their own. The prospect felt rather heavenly to Sir Harry and Ruth blossomed without the constant worry of societal pressure from London to worry herself over.

Over the coming days they fell into something of a routine. They slept late, helped each other dress and then raided the pantry for a cold breakfast. What remained of the morning was spent reading and writing correspondence, often in the garden if the weather was fair. Then there was lunch, simple fare they would prepare together and after a walk while the maid came and tidied the house and made dinner which was invariably waiting for them upon their return. They retired early and enjoyed the pleasures of a new relationship long into the night. A week spent like this spread into ten days before the pressures of time forced them to quit and head on to Bath some days later than planned.

The time spent cooped up in a carriage after the freedom of ten days with the run of the countryside felt rather confining to both and never before had the presence of their driver and household staff felt so confining. While at the cottage the staff had been sent on to Bath to see about confirming the readiness of their accomodation. Although the town was reportedly quite full, their connections had once more allowed the cards to fall in their favour. As they drew into Bath, Harry found himself questioned on the kindly landlord who had agreed to put them up for the rest of the summer.

“What did you say his name was again?” Ruth asked.

“Captain Tom Quinn.”

“The name is familiar. Do I know him?”

“It is possible, I suppose.”

“I can't seem to recall him,” Ruth mused.

“Well, your father served predominently in the Med. Tom has never served there, to the best of my knowledge. He had an American sweetheart for a while thought I must confess I never like her, her connections were much too dangerous for someone in his position. I confess we rather fell out over it and he left the military some time after.”

“Was she a prostitute?”

“Heavens no!” Harry exclaimed, “Whatever gave you that idea? No, she had political connections in Washington. I feared, rightly I think, that as much as there may have been affection between them that her primary loyalty would be to her family in Washington.”

“What happened?”

“He shot me.”

Ruth threw up her hands. “You mean to tell me, Harry Pearce, that we are staying at the house of the man who gave you that musket wound?”

“I've forgiven him, Ruth, and so should you. He was under a great deal of pressure at the time. With the progress of the war at such a crucial juncture it was considered more politically prudent to hush the whole thing up. Everyone was told it was a simple misfire and Quinn was allowed to resign his commission. In spite of everything, I do believe Captain Quinn to be a good man. We may disagree a great deal but I would never wish ill to him. I gave him a good reference and he found work with the East India Company which I think he finds much more agreeable. He is spending the summer in Plymoth this year, on business, and so the family house he has kept in Bath lies empty. It has until lately been rented out but the tenants outlived their means and were forced to quit.”

Ruth mused on the fact that for someone who was such a recluse, her new husband really did seem to know half the country. A quiet hello here, a polite letter there, an enquiry after the wife and children in the corridor at Whitehall. He knew how to keep people sweet and Ruth wondered idly if that meant her as well. Was that what the display back in London had been about? If so he had terribly misjudged her. Or maybe he really did just want her looked after the way he saw fit.

 

The road was longer and dustier than they would have liked and so Ruth was relieved to arrive in Bath and gaze out at the magnificient architecture, much of it quite modern. In the last few decades new houses and public buildings had begun to spring up around the city and the modern style of architecture with tall ceilings and plenty of windows was something that Ruth considered most agreeable. She was still astonished, however, when the carriage made its way to the crowning glory of the city's recent architectural endeavours, the Royal Crescent.

Ruth floundered, her mouth opening and closing as the carriage pulled up to a stop in front of one of the most elegant and eligible residences in the ancient Roman city.

“Harry...what are we doing here?”

Harry said nothing but silently dismounted and put out his hand to assist his wife down from the carriage.

Ruth poked her head out and looked around at the magnificent splendour of the townhouses before her and wondered, for a moment, if they were about to visit some ancient Dowager Duchess drowning in more money than she knew what to do with. It was with some hesitance that Ruth eventually emerged onto the street. “Don't tell me, you have some elderly great Aunt who insists you visit the moment you get into town before you have even had time to relieve yourself.”

Harry chuckled. A life with his new bride was proving to be very entertaining. “We're staying in that one,” He pointed up the staircase to the nearest white front door.

Ruth threw an exasperated look at her husband, who blinked and stared back at her with an expression of innocence. It wasn't that Ruth wanted to be known as a nagging wife, but if she didn't know better, she was beginning to think that Harry was rather enjoying winding her up.

Beside her, Sir Harry leaned over and whispered in her ear. “If it will lay your mind at ease, you may find my financial ledgers waiting for you in the study.”

Ruth blushed pink to the tips of her ears. “Am I that obvious?”

“I should like to enjoy our time together without you fretting unnecessarily. I think you will agree we have quite enough to worry ourselves over for the time being.”

With the matter settled between them for now, Sir Harry offered his wife his arm and the two of them entered the townhouse to meet the household staff who were already waiting for them. The household was predominently made up of the skeleton staff who had been retained by Captain Quinn after the last tenant left, supplemented by those staff whom Sir Harry had sent ahead from London, headed by Callum. The inside was quite as oppulent as Ruth expected and the local staff knew what was expected of visitors of their status. The luggage was hustled inside with marked efficiency. Travel coats and boots were taken, indoor slippers found. The couple were shown to their respective bedrooms – the master bedroom and the adjoining suite where Ruth made herself comfortable. Warm water was waiting for her and a maid had laid out some of the clothes that had been sent ahead so that Ruth was able to wash and change into clean clothes after the journey.

The overseeing of a household of this size was something that Ruth was still trying to comprehend, but she found that the principles were much the same as they had ever been for her own, more modest household and as she was naturally so exacting in her expectation of both herself and everyone around her, Ruth was finding that she was becoming accustomed to speaking up about anything which did not meet the standards she expected. It was therefore simple for her to stare down the footman who queried whether it was appropriate for her to enter her husband's study. Once inside she found the ledgers where Sir Harry had promised them and asked for the housekeeper to be sent up in a quarter hour so that arrangements might be made to cover the expenses of their ongoing stay.

Under the oversight of the slightly disapproving local footman, Ruth sat herself down in the leather-seated chair behind the magnificent mahogany desk and opened the large tome in front of her to the most recent leaf.

A small squeak escaped her as her eyes took in the numbers sitting before her on the page.

In the doorway, the figure of an older man appeared and leaned against the doorway while Ruth perused the figures, flicking between pages until she knew the details inside out. As her expression softened, with a quiet wave of the hand the household servant was dismissed.

Ruth looked up, feeling Harry's presence before she saw him.

“So you see,” Harry said quietly, not meeting her eye. “You need not worry yourself.”

“Why didn't you say something?”

“I thought that my reassurances would be sufficient for you. Discussing money is vulgar, Ruth and although I may be able to afford almost whatever I like, I have never felt the need to flaunt my wealth. I simply like nice things. A well made jacket, a warm house, good food.”

It was true, Ruth considered, her husband had taste. It was a relief, however, even if slightly daunting, to realise that the taste and comforts of a good living could be enjoyed without worrying about outliving their means.

“My affairs will never be closed to you, Ruth,” Harry continued quietly, “I trust you in all things. But I will not compromise on your comfort or security. Money is expendable; you are not. Can you understand that?”

It was not the words that moved Ruth, it was Harry's manner of relating them. He was not loud, he did not shout, he was quiet and resigned. It was an earnest plea from a man who didn't know what else to do and it was this, more than anything, which made Ruth realise the feeling with which Harry had instigated his demands.

“I have waited my entire life to meet you, Ruth. I could not bear to lose you now.”

Swallowing back the rising emotion that took her somewhat by surprise, Ruth closed her eyes and nodded silently and then rose from the chair to meet her husband's eyes.

Across the room, Harry stepped forwards and reached out his hand. They met halfway, Ruth's hand sliding into his and they came together for a gentle kiss. Having spent many long hours sitting side by side unable to enjoy anything intimate for the duration of their journey, they were both eager for each other now that they had finally found time to be alone. Ruth may have not married a man who was in the first spring of youth but to Ruth herself he was as agreeable a husband as she could have asked for. Her hands gravitated towards his body and slid up his back, over the fine wool of his coat to press into his back.

Sir Harry's hands moved up to Ruth's face, cupping her cheeks and grasping at the pins in her hair to let it down.

Standing in the hallway, the exiled footman quietly reached around and closed the study door. The housekeeper, when she arrived, would just have to wait.


	12. Chapter 12

 

~o0o~

Chapter 12

~o0o~

 

Their lovemaking that afternoon was intense and passionate. Events that began in the study soon moved to the master bedroom and some time later, both exhausted, they lay in bed together snuggling close. Harry lay in Ruth's arms, his head on her breast and Ruth thought he was perhaps more relaxed than she had ever seen him. Ruth could say much the same for herself. When Ruth had first become acquainted with her new husband he had been rather dour and serious in public. In private however, when he was relaxed, he was kind and gentle and had a warm and playful sense of humour that warmed her heart. Harry's protective nature, once explained, was more easily understood. Ruth was not unaware of the fact that she would have to find a way to work around her husband's concerns but she knew now his actions came not out of a desire to control her but out of concern for her wellbeing. In time, Ruth hoped that Harry would let go some of his cares but she had a suspicion that that would not occur until Lord Hunter had been dealt with. The very thought of the man made her skin crawl and so Ruth most decidedly resolved not to think on the man any further. Instead she turned her head and kissed the top of Harry's forehead where the line of his curled hair was starting to recede.

Harry's eyes blinked open. Ruth was staring at him in an odd way, with a contented sort of smile that he had never before laid eyes upon.

"What?"

"Nothing," Ruth smiled softly. Harry smoothed her hair back from her face and kissed her softly. Ruth returned the kiss and then broke away to straighten up her husband's apparel, smoothing down the collar of his nightshirt. "Only, I still have moments where I can't believe we're married."

"Ruth, can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Do you regret it? Marrying me?"

Ruth's brows knitted together. "Regret it? Why should I regret it?"

"Because you had a life, an independent life, and I selfishly fell in love with you and everything you have worked for up to now will be forgotten. You will be known as Lady Pearce and no matter how well you speak Arabic or how intelligent your mind or how well you play chess, there will always be those who judge you only on me and I fear that I fall short, in your eyes."

"Harry..." Ruth patted his chest, "You know very well that you are no more nor less selfish than me."

Harry's eyes widened. He loved Ruth very much and knew when he had asked her and twice been refused and, moreover, that he was very much the one more in love than her. Yet he did believe she cared for him, no woman who looked at a man as Ruth looked upon him could be without feeling. At the same time she had not once put her feelings into words. It seemed an unfamiliar notion to her. Yet there was no mistaking her meaning here. "Are you..." Harry propped himself up on an elbow. "Are you saying...?"

Ruth lay her hand on his chest and leaned in and kissed him sweetly again. Harry simply stared in wonder, the intensity of his gaze bringing a blush to Ruth's face.

"Ruth?"

"A little patience, Harry," Ruth said quietly, "I'll get there."

Harry stared at her a little longer and then reluctantly nodded. "I suppose we should dress. There is a ball at the Assembly Rooms tonight. It would be remiss of us not to attend although I must confess I would much rather stay here."

Ruth slid out of bed, aware of Harry's watchful eyes on her. She needed to wash before dressing and although she was becoming accustomed to sharing her personal life and space with Harry, she would be grateful to have a few minutes to herself to ready herself. Their earlier discussion had settled matters between them somewhat but Harry was still hopeful for a level of emotional commitment to their union which would only come on Ruth's part with time and patience. She knew his behaviour only came out of his own feelings and was not malicious but after a lifetime of no one paying any particular interest, it was still a little peculiar at times to find herself at the centre of someone else's attention.

The housekeeper, thankfully, was a discreet and experienced member of the household staff who had long served Captain Quinn and, rumour had it, one or two of his mistresses. Ruth returned through the link door to find that the housekeeper had had a couple of the maids make ready a bath and Ruth luxuriated in the relaxing sensation of warm water surrounding her. More than that, it soothed the aches and niggles of discomfort in a body that was still adjusting to the intimacies of marriage.

Ruth emerged from her bath to find Jo waiting in her room to dress her. On the bed a beautiful evening gown in the finest ivory silk was laid out along with new under clothes, dancing slippers and a selection of pearls to ornament her hair.

"With the compliments of General Pearce, My Lady," The Jo curtseyed.

"Jo!" Ruth smiled. She was rather relieved to see a familiar face. "Is Calum here too?"

"Of course, My Lady. You must excuse us, it was our half day this morning. We had no idea you would be arriving today. Did you enjoy your honeymoon, Ma'am?"

Ruth blushed to think of it and tried to keep a poker face. Then she tried glaring at Jo for even asking but failed miserably.

Jo bit back a smirk and nodded. "I believe I shall have to take the liberty, Madam, of assuming that you did."

"May I ask, about the dress?" Ruth said in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

"Which one, my Lady?"

Ruth sighed heavily, "Oh, don't tell me, he sent orders ahead to have a selection of gowns made up by a local dressmaker?"

"The finest in Bath, Ma'am," The maid announced proudly. "As fine as any you'll find in London. General Pearce was quite insistent."

"Silly bugger."

"Ma'am?"

"Nothing," Ruth sighed, "Although I confess I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with so many gowns. Oh well, I suppose it cannot be helped."

"I believe," Jo began tentatively, "That the General hopes they will please you, Lady Pearce."

Ruth wasn't sure what to say to that. It was a relief indeed to know that she need not fret over the finances when her husband bestowed such things upon her, yet Ruth hated to think that the gifts would become a matter of servants gossip. Worse, she knew very well that the peculiar details of marriage often became gossip around the town and Ruth had no reason to suppose matters would be any different in Bath than they would be in London. Living modestly, as she had before, had never left any danger of unwanted attention. Things were markedly different now that she was married to a high ranking military officer of wealth and status.

Preparing for any ball took plenty of time. Making one's first entrance as a married woman to a ballroom as renowned as the Assembly Rooms of Bath took painstaking time and attention to detail. It was rather a surprise, then, for Ruth to find herself in the entrance hall with her gloves ready well before her husband who appeared to be the cause of the ruckus she soon heard coming from the Master bedroom. When the matter seemed to have no intention of dying down, Ruth glanced at the waiting footman who remained po-faced and stood at attention as Harry barked at every male servant within hearing up the stairs. Ruth decided enough was enough, handed the footman her purse and marched herself up the main staircase.

Harry looked rather surprised at Ruth's abrupt entrance. Even the servants looked shocked. It was not done for a wife to intrude upon her husband's privacy. A wife was there to be visited by her husband – or not – as he pleased and not the other way around.

Quickly, however, Ruth assessed the root of the problem. It became quite clear from her first glance about the room that the poor stand-in valet, a footman who had probably ended up in the position from an acute shortage of staff upon their arrival, had never dressed a General before and the peculiarities of her husband's uniform were quite confounding him, bringing Harry's ire to the fore as Harry's efforts to dress himself were constantly disrupted by the footman not knowing what to hand him next, or which adornment went where. Ruth bit back a smile at the poor servant doing his level best and Harry barking sourly to anyone who came within three feet.

Ruth immediately ordered her husband to stand still and to the valet's eternal shock he did as requested while Ruth fussed over his necktie, the buttons of his jacket and the belt for his sword and the medals on his chest.

"I'm going to fire him," Harry announced.

"You'll do no such thing," Ruth insisted. "Why on earth are you being dressed by a footman? Is Calum not here?"

"I sent him out on an errand."

"Of course you did," Ruth tutted.

"Well I trust him," Harry bit back.

"The errand couldn't have waited an hour?"

"It was important," Harry insisted.

"Well then," Ruth patted his chest, "You only have yourself to blame for your predicament."

Harry harumphed at this but put up with his wife's attentions. When the worst of the fuss was over and Ruth had won around the servants by her calming presence over her husband, Harry pecked his wife on the cheek and thanked her for stepping in. The fact that more often than not while they were together the master of the house sometimes became oddly quiet and compliant and got lost in staring at his wife, it went without mention. At least above stairs.

Besotted was the word the used in the servants hall, but the Lady Pearce had no need to know that.

"Ruth," Harry finally spoke quietly, "May I say how beautiful you look tonight?"

"Thank you. Do you like the gown? My husband bought it for me."

"Did he? He must love you very much," Harry stepped closer and reached for her hand.

Ruth smiled softly and ducked her eyes. She did not return the sentiment or look at her husband but stepped forwards to close the gap between them and squeezed his hand in her palm.

Harry sighed. He lifted Ruth's hand to his mouth and kissed it but no sooner did he look at Ruth again than his shoulders drooped, his body sighed and his air became wistful.

"Harry..." Ruth's brows drew together in concern.

"Come on, we had better get going. We're late enough as it is." He moved away, checking himself over one last time.

Ruth stepped in front of him, her eyes flickered up to his and then away. "You know I care for you very much, don't you?"

"I know," Harry, patted the small hand that lay on her arm, but he wouldn't meet her eye.

Ruth was rather worried at Harry's response but they were making their introduction into Bath society and they had somewhere to be.

The Assembly Rooms in Bath was the scene of most of the major social events of the city. Anyone who was anyone was there and one had not arrived in Bath society until one had presented oneself at one of it's regular society balls or concerts. Such was the status and wealth of many of Bath's residents that even the public assembly was considered a respectable place to be seen.

Ruth could see very well that their arrival on the Crescent had not gone unnoticed. There was no disguising the twitching curtains or those who stopped and pointed their walking sticks at the open shutters, hurried servants and smoke piping from the chimneys.

During the afternoon the carriage and all the brass on the horses harnesses had been polished to a high shine and once they were safely ensconced within, the sight of the fine new paint, the polished glass and the footmen in their livery created the right image of wealth and status as the carriage made it's way the short distance through the streets from the Crescent to the Assembly Room.

The General and Lady Pearce arrived at the Assembly Rooms fashionably late. The ball had already begun, the music of a small chamber orchestra was floating out onto the street through the doors and glass panels of the windows along with the noise from the hustle and bustle of a large throng of people inside.

General Pearce was dressed in his best uniform, Ruth in the fine ivory silk gown her husband had ordered to be made specially for the occasion. The cut of the dress was classical, modest and tasteful showing exquisite class and refinement in the fabric, the embroidery and the quality of the seams. It was complimented by trimmings of lace while the ribbons and decorative pearls in Ruth's hair finished off her deportment.

When they arrived at the venue, Harry rose and exited first and then offered his hand to his wife to assist Ruth in her descent from the carriage. Ruth noticed something on the seat of the carriage and picked it up before accepting her husband's assistance onto the street. He was still cold and stand-offish, in spite of having ostensibly made up earlier. Ruth considered that no doubt her husband, like everyone else, went through his moments of doubt but Ruth had had quite enough of his wallowing. He had chosen to marry her knowing more than any other man ever had about her situation and frankly, she considered him to be a better man than he was currently showing himself to be. On the threshhold of the doorway, Ruth halted her husband and turned him to face her.

"Stop it, Harry."

"Stop what?"

"You're wallowing," Ruth said and then opened her purse and took out something, "And you forgot something."

Out came a ragged, dirty scrap of white ribbon which was presented to him in his wife's open palm.

Harry stared at it.

When Harry didn't move, Ruth took the liberty of placing it in the right hand pocket of his coat. "Since you never go anywhere without it, I'm sure leaving it in the carriage was some sort of error."

Harry watched Ruth take the unexpected liberty and glanced up at her. "How remiss of me," He muttered.

"Harry, what is wrong with you tonight? If you'd rather I stayed at home perhaps you ought to say so and I can return in the carriage."

"Don't be absurd."

"Can I ask, husband. There will be ladies in here with whom you are...acquainted."

"Was acquainted with. I am not the man I once was, Ruth. You know that better than anyone. I am only sorry that..." Harry paused and thought over his next words carefully. He took in a deep breath, "The truth is, Ruth, that in your present position you will likely be required to endure talk of my past iniquities."

Ruth slid her hand through her husband's arm. "Harry, I have lived upon a ship of six hundred men. Whatever your own iniquities, and at present my knowledge of them is probably rather more extensive than you imagine, I assure you six months at sea puts paid to all of them. There is very little that can shock me and I hardly think I am in a position to hold events against you that transpired before we were acquainted. Let us enter and ignore our critics and dance the night away."

Harry groaned at the mention of dancing.

Ruth clasped her husband's arm a little more firmly, brooking no argument.

"Ruth," Harry spoke quietly, "If you had married me only for your own security, you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would tell you, Harry."

"I fear your opinion of me may change after some of the personages at the current ball meet your acquaintance."

"Do you, indeed?" Ruth smirked. Rather than feeling threatened by the prospect of meeting her husband's former lovers, Ruth found his shame at his past behaviour – or taste in partners, perhaps, – rather encouraging. It added to her assurances of him as a changed man. Ruth did not, however, feel the need to inform her husband of this particular conclusion at this moment in time.

Harry paused, waiting for anything further on the topic but nothing was forthcoming and so he was left to get on with it, hoping that his wife was still his wife by the end of the night and he would not, once more, have a spouse requesting a divorce. At last, however, it seemed they were ready to enter the throng and, ushered by the attendants, Sir Harry and Lady Pearce made their way inside and up the stairs to the main ballroom. There, their names were whispered into the ear of the Master of Ceremonies who looked at them and nodded sagely in acknowledgement. Before them, the latest dance was beginning to draw to a close and as the music fell silent one of the Master of Ceremonies' men stepped forwards to announce their presence to those present.

"Major General Sir Henry James Pearce and the Lady Ruth Elizabeth Pearce!"

A murmur went round the room. Everyone, to a man, stopped and stared at her.

The present ball was Ruth's first event as the wife of General Pearce as it was the first time in her life that Ruth had entered such an event and all eyes had been on her. No longer allowed to fade into the background with her usual charge in her slightly outdated, modest grey dress. Ruth was now thrust into the limelight and all eyes were upon her. Their wedding had been a quiet affair, those who had been in London or those with connections would no doubt have found out as one maid gossipped to another or the footman bantered with the rag and bone man and there would be those who subscribed to the Times of London and may have noticed the announcement in the newspaper but down here in Bath at the other side of the country their betrothal was, in large part, apparently somewhat of a surprise. Even had it not been, as Ruth's first formal appearance by her new husband's side, it was inevitable that they would garner attention and gossip. As they stepped into the room the attention being paid them only became more obvious as the crowd parted and every step of the way eyes fell on Ruth. Around her, voices whispered.

"I thought he was married already," One woman said.

A second lady fanned herself slowly. "Didn't you hear? Passed away, she did."

"The first Lady Pearce?"

"In childbirth."

"Well then it isn't any wonder him marrying again with such a young child!"

"Oh, but the child isn't his! I had it from Sir Jeremy's valet on the crescent that Sir Harry only returned from Spain two months ago. Captain Quinn's hallboy had it from Sir Harry's valet, apparently."

"Two months ago?"

"He's been on the Peninsula these last two years together, you see, so the child couldn't be his. They say he left it in London, with a servant."

"Well, that woman! I can't say I'm surprised, people did talk!"

"People talked of Sir Harry as well."

"Do you think this new wife knows?"

"I shouldn't imagine so. Poor dear. Imagine, a spinster at her age. Oh, don't mistake my meaning, its a good marriage to make but forty years a virgin! She probably hasn't a clue what to do with him!"

Ruth closed her ears as they moved further down the room. She saw out of the corner of her eye Sir Harry's jaw twitch in anger. Clearly Ruth hadn't been the only one to overhear the gossip and she squeezed his arm in reassurance.

Soon, to Ruth's great relief, the music for the next dance commenced and they settled in a corner near some other military officers and made polite conversation, Sir Harry renewing a few acquaintances while Ruth played the obedient wife and nodded in all the appropriate places.

In addition to the officers there were a few merchants and industrialists and the inevitable slave masters. Although the trade itself had been abolished, the ownership of other human beings continued unabated in many corners of the empire. One merchant had just returned from India via Zanzibar and was accompanied by an Arab man who claimed to be a close acquaintance of the Sultan of that important island and had come to investigate opportunities for expansion of the trade in ivory. He let it be known that he would later be travelling to Sheffield on a business trip to the cutlers of that famous town and as soon as they were properly introduced, Ruth surprised the collective gathering by launching into eager Arabic with the visitor. Although he was quite surprised at being addressed in his own tongue by a white English woman, he was most polite and cordial and at the end seemed to attempt a compliment my maintaining that in spite of her age, Ruth would make an excellent addition to his harem, a comment which, in turn, prompted Harry to step in and politely manoeuvre his wife away for a dance.

They danced the next by the end of which Ruth could see that Harry's knees were troubling him and so she suggested they leave the dance floor in search of the punch bowl. Ruth herself required a visit to the powder room and Sir Harry promised to fetch them both a drink and to meet her in a few minutes by the sideboard. It was upon exiting the powder room that Ruth found herself in something of an awkward quandary for she had only stepped out the door when she overheard two women gossiping about her husband.

"Dear Lord, The General can fill a pair of breaches," One woman fanned herself heavily, as if about to faint while staring in the direction of her husband's scarlet evening coat.

"I hear he's rather athletic for a man of his age." The second woman replied. She was wearing a ridiculous hair piece with dark feathers spouting out of the top that made Ruth want to laugh.

"Oh? From whom?"

"A friend of a friend. She was intimately acquainted with him on his last trip to London, some two years ago now."

The line was delivered with such a prim attitude of snobbishness that Ruth was left in no doubt that the friend probably did not actually exist. Another one of Harry's flings, then.

"I do wonder at his new wife. Why on earth a man of his stature would choose a wife of such low breeding and little wealth is beyond me. He could have any debutante in London. I know several delicious girls, untouched, seventeen. Give him a few months and he'd have any of them ripe and swollen and he chooses some elderly hag who, rumour has it, on more than one occasion spent months at sea on ship full of men! Do you know, it is said that they are to live in some cubby little town house? In a terrace! The house on the Crescent is only borrowed you know. The Quinns still have it, after all. He can't have made nearly as much on campaign as people have said!"

The other woman guffawed. "There surely cannot be any love in the case!"

"I can only imagine she is with child, or there is some other obligation. She's an odd little thing. Nearly forty, from what I hear. Never married. Few acquaintances in society."

"Hardly likely she is with child at her age, surely?" A third joined in.

A fourth sidled up. "I saw them dancing earlier. He seemed quite besotted with her, if you ask me."

"Hunter tells me she plays chess and fights with swords," Said the first.

Well, Ruth mused, her father had once taught her how to use a cutlass. She wasn't exactly walking around in men's clothes and carrying pistols although with Harry's attitude of late Ruth supposed he would probably have little objection if she chose to take up arms.

"I don't suppose the little hag has any idea what to do with a decent piece of meat like that. The poor man is probably gagging for it by now."

"Hunter wouldn't mind?"

"Dear God, no! Hunter would find it hilarious if I managed to separate them. He told me he tried to have her but she's such a shrivelled up little witch that her dry little cunt-"

Ruth stormed past them, head held high, clasping her purse in her hand with white-hot knuckles. As soon as she saw Harry she made a beeline towards him and clutched at his arm.

"Ruth? Ruth what has happened? You don't look well."

Ruth shook her head, grabbed Harry's punch bowl and downed it in one.

Harry stared on, eyes wide and shocked and immediately poured her another.

"Lord Hunter's mistress is here. She's with some woman who seems to be an old friend of yours."

Beside Ruth, Harry's blood ran cold. There was only one reason for Lord Hunter's mistress to be here in Bath. "Then Lord Hunter will be here too. He must be here for his son."

"Danny and Zoe?"

"They had plans of marrying here, did they not?" Harry reminded her.

"She knows of the assault."

Harry stared at Ruth in horror.

"I heard them talking, outside the powder room. From what I can gather he gloated about his...prowess."

"We're leaving! Now!"

Ruth stepped in front of her husband to block his path.

"Ruth, don't." Harry told his wife firmly. He was set upon finding the woman and spilling blood but Ruth wasn't looking at Harry, her eye were fixed over her shoulder in a manner that soon had Harry turning around. There, standing at the entrance where they themselves had appeared not one hour ago, was Harry's Goddaughter, Zoe along with her fiance, Daniel Hunter and his father.

"Harry..."

Slowly Harry turned around. He stilled, violently. He was silent and fuming. One word and he would have been across the room pinning the man to the wall but the presence of Daniel and Zoe along with half of Bath forced Harry to suppress his ire. With Ruth by his side Harry froze, shaking with fury.

"Don't even think about it," Ruth told him firmly.

"I didn't say anything."

"You cannot run a man through at an assembly. Not even outside one. I hardly need to remind you, Harry, that there is more at stake here than you or I."

"I'm starting to think America can handle itself."

"And I'm starting to think, Harry, that love has gone to your head. Or have your forgotten why you first engaged me in the first place? Do you think I have somehow forgotten the work I have undertaken on your behalf? We are in the midst of a serious threat to the future of the Kingdom! Lord Hunter is more than a threat to myself and to Zoe, he is engaged in espionage against His King's Majesty and he is playing the United States against us for monetary gain. He needs us to lose the war in the Americas and has undertaken to betray King and Country by every possible means in order to bring that about."

"We will lose the war in the Americas. A more foolhardy military expedition I have never heard of!"

"And yet," Ruth reminded her husband, "He increases the chance of major military losses by passing information to the United States that undermines His Majesty's forces. He knows of ship movements, of food stocks. How many animals we have, of horses and ships and men, of how battle hardened they are, of how swiftly they can move across land. He had advance notice of our troop movements directly from his government sources in Whitehall. Boston, Harry. Chesapeake Bay. The landing sights, the logistics planning. He may even know of the plan to take the Capitol and meanwhile we have his men stirring things up against the French. If the war on the continent restarts while our main force is across an Ocean being decimated by a terribly well informed enemy..."

"...then we shall struggle indeed," Harry scrubbed a hand across his forehead. "Napoleon will be freed and may very well win and England overcome and all of it to make a larger profit on sugar."

"Money and power have always gone hand in hand, Harry."

At that precise moment, Ruth was startled out of their hushed conversation by a new voice exclaiming happily at the sight of their presence.

"Thick as thieves!" A familiar voice declared.

Ruth whipped around to see Zoe smiling happily at the sight of them both and standing contentedly close to her fiance, Lance-Corporal Daniel Hunter. As the only black man in the room not in livery, Lance-Corporal Hunter's presence was garnering a few looks and mutters. More so even than Ruth. Many had heard of Lord Hunter's black son. The way his father continued to parade him in society was a scandal to many of those who held financial interests in the slave estates of the colonies. One might rape or employ or enslave a black person. One might even allow one in a private household. One did not parade one's colonial by-blows in polite English society, thank you very much.

Those who knew Danny, however, knew him for the man of integrity he was. Nothing, indeed, like his father. Although he had a taste for fine things, Danny was a man who had more than once displayed a propensity to stand up for those weaker than himself. Ruth would never forget the way he had ridden to her aid along with Harry on the night that her poor maid Beth was killed and after having some initial reservations about Zoe's choice of husband, Ruth was beginning to see how much they cared for each other. There would inevitably be many challenges but just as Zoe had respected her own choice of husband, Ruth realied it was only right for her to return the favour. As an example of a man, Danny Hunter rose in her estimation almost every time Ruth encountered him.

For some reason at that precise moment, as Ruth looked upon Zoe, Catherine Pearce came to mind. Ruth supposed that it may well be beneficial to Catherine to arrange for her and Zoe to spend a little more time together. Sir Harry was Zoe's godfather by virtue of her guardian, Lucas North and Ruth realised her husband was probably too wrapped up in matters military for most of their upbringings to realise the need to encourage the expansion of their respective social circle. Certainly, from what Ruth had heard of her husband's first wife the probability of her encouraging Catherine to socialise with anyone from her husband's connections was rather slim.

Danny's exclamation of delight at the sight of them brought Ruth back to the present.

"General Pearce. Lady Pearce. I believe congratulations are in order!" Danny greeted Sir Harry with a warm handshake and a manly slap on the shoulder in the way of military men. At his side, Ruth tried to gather her thoughts and attempted a smile at Lance-Corporal Hunter's cordial greeting. As delighted as Ruth was to see the couple and renew their acquaintance, the sight of Lord Hunter in their party along with the tenor of the discussion they had interrupted was rather jarring to Ruth's sensibilities and perhaps that was why she was diverting herself with thoughts of Catherine and other things. She struggled to adjust as Harry smoothly launched into conversation, enquiring after his Goddaughter's health and Lord Hunter's time with his father. Danny's grumpy response included an insulting side eye in the direction of his father that made Ruth smile even as Zoe chastised him for his discourtesy. Zoe then took it upon herself to launch into a lengthy explanation of their plans for the wedding, of how her Guardian was attempting to fight Lord Hunter over who should pay for what, a disagreement over the dowry and the contentious issue of where they should settle after the ceremony.

"Father wants us in London, naturally. After discovering what I have in your employment you can hardly be surprised at my displeasure. Frankly I'd rather be as far from him as possible. He'll still send me an allowance if I travel, but the road would be hard on Zoe and there is the ever present danger of renewed war. If the war should restart I might go back to Europe but that would necessitate leaving Zoe behind and we neither of us want to be parted so soon into our marriage."

"You would consider leaving the Army?"

"If I can find other employment. Father wishes I could go to the Estates but of course as a black man my personage is hardly safe there. In some part of the Caribbean it is still the law that all black men are slaves. Free men like me don't exist. Even in the southern United States I have heard many disturbing instances of free men being kidnapped and sold. I suppose we might try for the North, or a new part of the Southern American continent. There is still good land to be had there where we might make a fresh start."

"South America?" Harry started. This was the first he had heard of such a scheme. "Stay out of the way of the Portuguese!"

"You hardly need to remind me, General Pearce."

"Don't I? If our plan succeeds your father will be finished. You may inherit but you may also be ruined. You could be left with nothing." Harry glanced at Zoe. "I am sorry to say it, but you must both be aware of the peril you are in, both physical and financial."

"General," Danny leaned in, "He is attempting to set us up with massive losses in the Americas, such that not only would we lose the war but the scale of the losses would render another invasion of the United States completely impossible! We cannot let him succeed!"

"Danny," Ruth glanced at Zoe softly, "It isn't the United States that concerns us. If our main forces there are engaged in a losing battle against a better informed enemy and France declares war once again at the same time, England will struggle to fight both fronts at once. If we are taken by surprise in Europe, even worse."

Zoe gasped at the prospect. "England might fall?"

"Well after my last meeting with the Home Secretary I am beginning to think if our present politicians continue down their current path, your father's assistance will hardly be required to bring that circumstance about. Still, you are all correct in one way or another as regards the scale of the problem. Were Lord Hunter's information less valuable the problem would be easier to handle. As it is his information stems from Government itself, from Whitehall and The Palace. Such are his connections. His activities against the State cannot be allowed to continue. Sooner or later he must be stopped. I am convinced France will declare war on us again. That country is not yet done with us and the sooner this foolhardy rubbish in the Americas is nipped in the bud the better."

"Well, at the very least you need not fret that I shall be destitute," Danny informed them. "I have some little money set aside while North has agreed to hand the dowry directly to me, after your discussion with him."

Ruth looked at her husband, "What discussion with him?"

Harry blushed, "When I gave him the money for Zoe's dresses – and yours – before our marriage I informed him of my suspicions regarding Lord Hunter. He has been through much in his short life and survived rather a nasty run-in with the Russians but he's a good sort at heart."

"So," Danny continued, "Thanks to our good friend North there is Zoe's dowry, my own savings and I also have some valuable personal items I can sell on to raise funds if needs be."

"And we can lend you a little as well," Ruth stepped in.

This was news to Harry. "We can?"

Ruth put on her best innocent face and squeezed her husband's arm a little tighter. "I'm sure we can find a little spare coin lying around?"

Zoe laughed out loud at the innocent expression on Ruth's face and the matching look of suspicion on Harry's as his eyes narrowed in mock annoyance. He knew he was being played, what amused Zoe was how little he seemed to mind. Her Godfather had always been a contrary man. Variously sweet and furious, kind and irate. Yet for much of her life he had paid her whatever attention he could spare, regardless of war and marital strife and wayward children. Ruth she had only become acquainted with after an excellent reference from the neighbour's governess and the prospect of ever introducing them or matching them had never occurred to her. Yet it delighted Zoe to see her former chaperone so happy in marriage to a man who had been so instrumental in her life. It gave her hope that such a thing was possible as she stood at Danny's side.

Ruth smiled at Zoe and slid out of Harry's arm to take the young woman by the elbow. Daniel, Ruth guessed, had brought Zoe up to speed on matters regarding Lord Hunter and their recent adventures in espionage. Yet whether or not Danny had informed his intended about his father's behaviour, Ruth had no idea and she decided there and then that it was time she took matters into her own hands and they conferred one to one, as women.

"Miss Reynolds, it seem my husbands knees give him trouble and he has not much interest in dancing. Unless you are engaged for the next would you oblige me by accompanying me on a turn about the room?"

Zoe smiled at her former chaperone. "Of course. If you would excuse us gentlemen, we shall leave you to talk."

Harry and Danny bowed low as the ladies departed but Harry's eyes lingered on Ruth with a wistful expression.

"Do you love her?" He asked Danny quietly.

"With all my heart."

"Good."

"And you, General?" Danny enquired.

Harry sighed a long sigh and stared long at his wife. "More than I knew it was possible to love another human being." Harry let his eyes linger a moment longer until they disappeared into the hallway. Then he took in a deep breath and gathered himself. "Come, let us sit upon the ground."

"...and tell sad stories of the death of kings."


	13. Chapter 13

 

~o0o~

Chapter 13

~o0o~

 

While Lady Pearce and Zoe delicately set off down the long length of the Assembly Room, politely wafting their fans at their faces, Major General Sir Harry Pearce watched them, hoping his wife would do a delicate job of warning off his goddaughter from the balding, sneering man seated at the top of the room beside those of highest rank. A gesture of Lord Hunter's hand was all it took for Lance-Corporal Daniel Hunter to be called back to his father's side and Harry winced as the poor man glanced nervously at his former Commanding Officer before scurrying back to the hand that feeds.

Even Sir Harry had to acknowledge that the young man was in a difficult position. Hunter's power was immense, matched only by his wealth. The veins of gold he tapped ran throughout Britain and its Empire and Lord Hunter could make his son's life a living hell if he so chose. It was only Hunter's odd affection for the boy that had resulted in Daniel being rewarded with his father's favour in quite the way he had. There were many in London who were quite unsure how to respond to a black heir, who by virtue of his status and projected future income ought to be favoured by society and yet because of the features with which he was born there would always be those who would be unable to bring themselves to so much as shake the man's hand, who muttered in low tones about how dark his skin was, how thick his lips and how coarse his hair. Even Lord Hunter himself seemed at times to view his own son as a novelty of sorts, an amusement there for his father's entertainment. More than once Lord Hunter had humiliated his son, deliberately parading him in front of guests for the sole purpose of shocking them with his son's blackness and apparently caring not a whit what effect the episode might have on the young man himself.

"What a good joke!" Lord Hunter exclaimed from the top of the room and hoardes of people flocked around him, hanging onto his every word hoping for a word, a favour or a nod to the places he intended to frequent during his stay. The glover, candlemaker, tailor or cabinetmaker whose shop was frequented by Lord Hunter's household could readily boast to the entire city of Bath that they were honoured to hold one of the most illustrious personages in the land amongst their customers. It was all Harry could do to get through the rest of the evening without challenging the odious man to a duel. He hated to see Danny fawn over his father and force a smile at the bawdry jokes, the insults towards those whom Lord Hunter found displeasing and the inappropriate overtures towards females in the room.

To Harry's great surprise, his wife blended unerringly well into the room and Zoe smiled and looked very much the happy fiance. With so many Officers of His Majesty's Navy having set up home in the south west since the peace, Harry noticed Ruth acknowledging many former acquaintences and, Harry noted smugly, most of them looked rather put out that the infamous spinster daughter of Admiral Evershed had finally married – and to an Army man no less.

With Ruth occupied for the time being, Harry was happy to leave her to catch up with old friends. He had plans to do a little bit of snooping and hopefully find a quiet corner somewhere that would allow him to have a private conversation with Corporal Hunter to exchange intelligence. Harry had been out of the loop for some time now and he was itching to catch up with recent events. Having Callum sent out to find a messenger had been a troublesome but necessary step. It was absolutely essential now that he was settled in Bath for the next few weeks that any letters addressed to his office in Whitehall should be forwarded to The Crescent as soon as may be. While there were people he trusted back in Whitehall, Harry had no doubt that there would be a large pile of confidential papers piling up on his desk. Just because it was not the opportune time to move against Lord Hunter did not mean that Harry was about to let things fall by the wayside. A constant stream of information was vital for Harry's plans if they were to build the case to move against Hunter at the appropriate time.

While Ruth was busy socialising, Harry decided to go and find a quiet corner where he and Danny might have a little chat. As one might expect, most of the assembly was filled with people and the back staircases for the servants, footmen were full of working people rushing around trying to keep up with the demands of their masters and mistresses. After much exploration Harry headed down a long, increasingly deserted corridor and found a quiet dead end that contained only a few storage room. It appeared to be the place assigned to the storage of chairs, tables and assorted furniture for the ball. At the present time the storage facilities were mostly empty and deserted. Harry snopped around for a few minutes. His mind wandered off to his new wife and Ruth's shy joy at discovering the intimacy of marital relations.

Although he had engaged in relations with many women over the years, Harry could safely say that never before in his life had he found such pleasure in sexual encounters with the opposite sex. While outwardly his new wife was often shy and quiet about the matter, once engaged Ruth's intelligent mind went to work and the gentle yet intense nature of their encounters usually left Harry in a blissful state of exhaustion. He found that he could kiss her for hours, holding her close and as he thought of her he felt his body react. He wondered if Ruth might not be persuaded to come down here, instead of Danny. Yes, much more interesting. Would Ruth be interested in engaging in such intimacies with the added danger of the illict nature of their actions, the constant risk of being caught?

Harry smiled at the thought. There was a table over there that looked sturdy enough and Ruth was a petite woman. He thought of her slim waist and her smooth back, of sitting her on the table and lifting her skirts and...

"Well I'll be damned! General Pearce! My dear fellow!"

Harry spun around at the unmistakable voice of a person whom he had, to be perfectly frank, never expected to see again.

Juliet Shaw.

Juliet Shaw was a courtesan, but she was much more than that. An educated English woman living in Paris, Juliet Shaw was known under an alias as one of the highest paid and most discreet courtesans in Paris. In French circles she was taken for what she was, while only a very select few back in London knew that Juliet used her position to gain secrets from the highest ranking men of Napoleon's government and fed them, secretly, back to Britain. Harry and Juliet had known each other for a long time. The networks he had built up had allowed many a message to be secreted in or out of France safely when all other manners of passage had closed. Yet Harry was rather ashamed of his history with this woman. She had been there when no one else had, when his marriage had failed and his children wouldn't talk to him and the war was a dirty quagmire of attrition and she had taken him into his arms and become his lover. She was an excellent lover, Juliet Shaw, and wily at the craft of espionage but Shaw was also dangerous and if Juliet Shaw was in Bath, Harry knew there was a reason. His stirring erection faltered.

"Juliet Shaw."

"Harry Pearce," Juliet smiled, "Is that for me?"

Harry blushed, knowing his current attire did nothing to hide the aroused state of his body. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Juliet was on her knees and his breaches were unbuttoned and he was surrounded by the hot wet heat of her mouth. In his head wanted to say no, he thought of Ruth and of what she might say but thinking of her only made him more aroused. This had always been one of Harry's favourite things, and it didn't help that Ruth had yet to do such a thing. Against his better judgement his body took over, melting at the pleasure of Juliet's skilled tongue and hand. He couldn't hold back his moans of pleasure at her actions and it wasn't long before he was spilling his seed into her mouth. He felt her swallow and lick the head one last time and then he opened his eyes to the vision of Ruth, his wife, standing in the doorway watching him.

Harry blinked.

Juliet tucked him back in and buttoned him up. "I think you liked that. It always was your favourite."

"Ruth..." Harry's voice was raspy. His eyes flickered from Juliet to Ruth and back again.

"Don't tell me you're worried about that little mouse. If she knew what to do with you she wouldn't be standing in the doorway gawping." Juliet rose to her feet. "I am being put up by Lord Hunter so he can fuck me once a week when he's not doting on his negro son. Horrible man, all grabby hands. Hasn't a clue what to do with a woman. Anyway, I have access to his papers. If you would like to be seen with me from time to time I can pass you anything you desire. For a price."

Harry stared at Juliet, the most brilliant, self-serving and dangerous woman either side of the Channel.

Juliet leaned in and kissed Harry on the lips, the smell of himself on her lips making him feel slightly nauseous. Or maybe that was just the fact that Ruth was still watching. Juliet pulled back, smiled and then waltzed out of the room, brushing past Ruth who stood, staring at Harry.

Still Ruth did not move.

Harry fumbled to straighten his attire. "Ruth..." He began.

Ruth tore her gaze away, saying nothing. Eventually she straightend her shoulders and on shaking breath made her pronouncement. "You and I are going to go back into the ballroom and we are going to play the good couple and then in an hour I would like to go home."

"Ruth..." Harry started again, yearning to excuse himself. To explain. To say something in the face of her cold face and stoney silence on the matter. In the end he nodded solemnly.

Ruth turned to go.

"Ruth," He tried one last time, "I didn't mean to..."

But Ruth was gone and Harry was left jogging to catch up, the weight of his girth leaving him to the abject humiliation of an undiginfied trot, his belly wobbling as he struggled to keep up with Ruth's rapid stride. He arrived at her side at the entrance to the ballroom panting and out of breath. Inside a part of him died. He had never intended to allow matters with Juliet to become intimate. She had caught him unawares and Harry was, even now, struggling to get him mind around the events of the evening. Harry's shortness of breath and the sheen of sweat that had started to gather on his forehead garnered him more than a few stares and his humiliation continued as Ruth expressed her desire to dance. Harry painfully plodded through the next ten minutes of constantly bending knees. When they had stayed long enough, Harry and Ruth said their goodbyes to Zoe and Daniel and excused themselves as soon as their carriage was ready to return them to their residence.

In the carriage, Ruth pursed her lips.

"Ruth, she caught me unawares."

"Harry I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Any thought of whoring yourself out to her in exchange for information can be forgotten right now."

"I wasn't...she didn't..."

"Did she not promise that she could get Lord Hunter's private documents for a price?"

"You heard that?"

"Yes, Harry. I heard that."

Harry watched his wife carefully. When nothing more was forthcoming he carefully took in a breath and then began very quietly. "I was looking for a quiet corner away from the rabble where Danny and I might exchange information on his father. Being a newly married man my mind went to other places when presented with small dark corners out of the way. Though it may be of little consolation, I would have you know my mind was on my wife when Madam Shaw cornered me, saw the state I was in and...made her advances."

"And you what, Harry? Sat back and let her?"

Harry knew better than to make any sort of response to that tone of voice. He sat quietly, accepting his punishment. "Ruth, you were not there."

"Oh, I was there," Ruth scoffed, "And your lack of protest at her actions was notable." Ruth inspected her hands. "Would I be correct to assume you and Lord Hunter's mistress were previously acquainted?"

"We were together in Paris in our youth, many years ago and became reacquainted after the defeat of Napoleon."

"And she stayed in France, all through the Revolution and the War and never once came to any harm?"

"She was careful to cultivate powerful men around her as her clients. They protected her. The problem was at the end of the war when she had to transition. She always had ways and means of getting information out but once Napoleon fell she had to blow her cover to ensure the British didn't kill her."

"You vouched for her?" Ruth prodded.

"Of course I vouched for her! She was intimately acquainted with Napoleon's mistress. She gave us information no other source inside the French ruling elite could possibily elicit. Of course I vouched for her."

Ruth pressed her lips together. A thought began to form in her mind that she did not want to express out loud just yet. She had always trusted Harry's judgement but now she was beginning to see her own blind spots. Harry had buttons that could be pushed by those who knew him and that meant that he could be deceived. Juliet may have deceived him that very night.

"You need to be careful," Ruth pronounced.

"I thought you were angry?"

"Oh, believe me Harry, I am livid. But this goes beyond either of us. That woman is dangerous and she knows you, intimately. She knows the ways of men. She knows how to...how to get you exactly where she wants you." She looked away, unable to meet his eye. The thought of what had occurred made her stomach roil but she forced herself to look beyond the immediate situation.

"Ruth, I wouldn't exactly say..."

"Would you not? Pray, tell me at what point did you indicate your displeasure with her actions? At what point did you protest or request she cease? That woman has a power over you and you're the only one who can't see it. She can push buttons even you don't know you have. Harry, all it took was one grab at your breeches and you fell straight into her hands. How could you be so stupid!"

Harry had been accused of many things in his life. Never, not once in all his years had he been accused of stupidity in quite the manner in which Ruth was making the assertion.

"Did it never once occur to you that she might be playing both sides?"

Harry's world stopped. His ears began to ring. No, that thought had not occurred to him. He had been astute enough to see Juliet was a dangerous woman, an assertive woman with high contacts and a hunger for power, but it had never occurred to him that she might betray her country in that manner.

"No, I'm sure she would not dare..." Harry shook his head.

"Like Lord Hunter would not dare?" Ruth pressed.

The thought of Juliet Shaw and Lord Hunter being genuinely on the same side filled Harry's stomach with a sick feeling of dread. Between their discussion, the carriage ride and the events of the evening it was, therefore, a rather queasy General Pearce who stepped out of the carriage on The Crescent. Once they were in the door the servants took their outerwear and their boots were replaced with slippers. As they ascended the stairs together, Harry began to speak.

"If you would rather to retire to your own chamber this evening I shall of course understand."

"Husband, right now I wouldn't trust that woman not to break in and climb into your bed in the middle of the night. You can put any thought of sleeping alone out of your mind for the foreseeable future."

"Of course, Ruth. Whatever you feel is best." Harry felt slightly taken aback at this newly assertive Ruth. His mind and heart was a confused jumble. He felt equal parts stupid, guilty and humiliated. Ruth had pointed out several weaknesses he had somehow been blind to his whole life and he felt rather the fool for that, though he supposed it was no less than he deserved and while he could not deny having rather enjoyed the pleasures bestowed by Juliet's skillful lips and mouth, he rather felt that the price to pay for such pleasure was proving to be rather high.

Ruth did retreat to her own chamber for a short while to disrobe from her evening wear and prepare for bed. She crept into Harry's room once he was already in his nightshirt and under the covers and Ruth padded across the Master bedroom in her robe and slippers and slid into bed beside Harry. For a time both were silent but Ruth and Harry both failed to fall asleep. After a while, Ruth felt the only way ahead was to tackle the awkward subject head on. It did not escape her notice that the attentions Juliet had paid to her husband was something she had not yet felt like attempting.

"So, that's what you like then, is it? That's what I've been doing wrong?"

"You've been doing nothing wrong, Ruth. I have never sought to betray our marriage vows before now and have no intention of doing so again in the future."

"In spite of what just happened?"

"In light of what just happened."

Ruth slid down the bed and turned her back on him.

Harry lifted his hand. It hovered above the curve of Ruth's shoulder before Harry thought the better of it and pulled back. Quietly, he shuffled down the bed. "Forgive me, Ruth."

Ruth sighed heavily and closed her eyes. "I love you, Harry, but you let it happen. I can't forgive you."

Harry's eyes watered. He blinked back tears as his gaze locked onto his wife's hair. She loved him? Harry could do nothing but stare in the face of her declaration. Ruth loved him. In spite of all his fears, in spite of all of his failures, in spite of all of her emotional reticence she did love him after all. At length he nodded mutely, even knowing she could not see. He stretched the fingers on his right hand that bothered him from time to time, probably from too many sword fights over his military life. He wondered, not for the first time, if Ruth might not prefer a younger husband. "I love you too, Ruth," Harry whispered. The only response was the steady rhythm of breathing. Carefully Harry leaned over and placed the gentlest of kisses on Ruth's hair. "I love you very much and I shall endeavour to be a better husband for you. I promise."

 

~o0o~

 

The morning came bright and clear. A high ceiling of cloud was sparse enough to let the morning sunshine filter through and bestow it's graceful beauty on the many gardens of Bath. Once upon a time the gardens attached to all the surrounding properties had been sparse and newly planted. Now the trees had had a few years to mature and the plants had bedded in and the early morning air was filled with the myriad warbling of little birds that flittered between trees and bushes and filled the steet with delight.

Ruth stood at the window in her night gown and stared out at the garden. The curtains were opened and a warm cup of tea rested between her palms. She had had one of the maids bring it up first thing but Harry was still asleep and it looked like Ruth was going to drink most of it herself.

The quiet of the morning gave her a moment to think. To think about where she was and where she had come from these last few months. The weather looked like it was going to be rather warm today, which meant they should get out early if they planned to take the waters in order to return in plenty time to escape from the heat of the day. It would, of course, mean going out with Harry in public. The events of last night were still imprinted on her mind and in spite of her best efforts and her attempts to look at the event from a strategic point of view, Ruth could not get over the humiliation, anger and betrayal that Harry's actions stirred up inside her. There was a saying, Ruth recalled, about making one's bed. She supposed she could not fault Harry too much, most married men strayed and she had married a man with a strong history of infidelity. In truth, Harry's devotion to her Ruth found at once rather moving and rather difficult to cope with. Was it any surprise that when she sometimes brushed him off he might like to find his attentions reciprocated elsewhere? The look of devastation when Harry had spotted his wife watching in the doorway was something she would never forget. His apologies and requests for forgiveness seemed genuine. Ruth was hurt, hurt by Harry's failure to act and dismayed by her strong-willed husband's complete collapse at the prospect of a warm mouth and a modicum of short-lived pleasure.

Looking over at him in the bed this morning he looked peaceful and even rather boyish, in spite of his age. She did love him, for her sins, and she had agreed to marry him knowing his faults. It wasn't any man who proposed again after being rejected and he had in every way endeavoured to be a good husband, seeing to her comfort and security above all things. He had never been unkind or violent and had always sought to consult her on every matter of import. Could she allow him this one moment of weakness?

Ruth put down the cup of tea on the sill of the window and padded back to bed. Drawing back the covers, she pulled at Harry's night shirt and let her fingers trace up the inside of his thighs. With gentle hands she roused him and called his name to wake up. Sleepy eyes blinked open and stared up at her in wonder.

"I was dreaming about you," Harry whispered.

Ruth grasped him in her hands and licked her lips. Well, she didn't have the first clue what she was doing but like it or lump it she would be damned if some Parisian whore was going to get one up on her. General Pearce was her husband and she had every intention of keeping him.

 

~o0o~

 

Harry closed his eyes and swore

"Ruth..."

"Don't make this more awkward than it is, Harry. How am I meant to learn if you constantly put up objections?"

Harry muttered under his breath, "I beg to differ."

Ruth sat back. "For goodness sake, Harry! If you recall my own household expenditure was rather on the modest side. Learning your own – dare I say it, unique – system of accounting would be hard enough even were it not for the absurdly large endowments."

Some hours had passed since the pleasures experienced in the bedroom that morning and the General and Lady Pearce were now in the study, where Ruth had chose to follow up on her husband's promise to look over the finances in as much detail as she should choose. It was a promise Harry was now beginning to regret.

"Ruth, those are not endowments. They are expenditures."

"And yet the rest of the civilised world..."

"I have a system..." Harry butted in with a finger and a deep breath, ready to point out a few things to help.

"Harry, you promised me time to inspect the books."

"And you are having it."

Ruth tried not to laugh. "I do suspect, Harry, that I might get along rather better if I did it on my own."

"Well it is my study and my book and I would like to spend some time with my beloved wife."

Ruth threw up her hands. "Are you going to behave like this every time I tell you I love you?"

"It is, indeed, quite possible," Harry replied happily. "Shall we have tea?"

Ruth sighed and pushed the books away. "I suppose a cup of tea would not be amiss."

"Excellent. I have a plan."

"A plan for tea?"

"Not a plan for tea, Ruth...a plan!"

Ruth looked sideways briefly and then back at Harry. He still had the same earnest expression on his face. She took in an inquiring breath.

"All in good time. First, we need a chess set."

 

After a light lunch, Ruth and her husband spent the afternoon in the drawing room away from the worst excess of the hot summer sun. As Harry has suggested, they passed the time playing chess and turning away visitors while the servants muttered in the hallway over the most peculiar behaviour of their new master and mistress.

"We ought, I think, to discuss a certain matter of contention between us."

"I don't want to talk about it, Harry. Quite frankly I think it might be better for both of us to forget the whole thing."

"No, I think not."

"Harry..."

"You have raised something which may be a crucial matter of importance, Ruth, and that is a question which – in spite of the joys of married life – has been bothering me since you mentioned it. This is, the loyalty of a certain Madam Shaw."

"Harry...General Pearce..."

"Lady Pearce," Harry cut across her formality. He made his move on the board and then met his wife's eye, "Needs must. Would that I could spare you, Ruth, even the mention of her name. It cannot be easy, I know, for a spouse to meet any person with whom one's marriage partner was intimately acquainted, I am sure." A dark look came over Harry's face and Ruth was reminded, not for the first time, that Harry was not the only transgressor in his original marriage. "You were right, last night. I should have done more to dissuade her. I am hesitant to admit the ways in which I now realise I may have been lead once upon a time. As in everything else, you make me see sense. For good or for ill, she must be dealt with."

"Well, she already believes she has driven a wedge between us. Perhaps we ought to play up to the illusion," Ruth suggested. "Lord Hunter would like that very much. I think. He has worked on me, has he not? And now his Mistress works on you."

Harry stopped, dead. He stared at his wife.

"What, Harry, is it not so?"

A coldness ran through Harry's mind. Hunter's behaviour towards Ruth. Juliet's behaviour towards him. In that instant he wished he could sail far, far away from either of them with Ruth and Ruth alone and live on a warm island somewhere far away where no one would ever bother them. Alas, they had to avert a plan that could bring down the government. When he opened his mouth, Harry's voice was hoarse and rough. "Yes. Yes, Ruth, it is so. How could I have been so stupid?"

A sad smile overcame Ruth's face. "We all of us have our blind spots. I for one have taken some time to admit to myself quite how highly I held you in my regard." Ruth looked down at her hands, at the single pawn she had taken that she now turned in her hands, "Not until I believed I might have lost you." She took in a breath and with new resolve looked up to meet her husband's eye. "Yes, well, the important thing is...I see now. I see you, Harry and I see what they're up to and I'll be damned if they're going to get away with it."

Harry could find no words of comfort, only relief at her finally acknowledging her feelings and at the fact that she indeed held feelings for him at all. He had believed she must, from her actions and from her warmth towards him but it was not the same as hearing something spoken aloud. A new resolution to work towards the goal that had brought them together might, indeed, be just the thing they needed to overcome the most recent obstacle that had come up in their path. If Ruth could stand to endure the presence of the man who had treated her so abominably, he would do everything that was required to resolve the matter. Shaw was a distraction, nothing more. "How do you do it, Ruth?"

"Do what?"

"That man attacked you..." Harry broke off, not wanting to even name the things out loud that presently hung in his mind. "...and yet you walk in his presence."

Ruth was silent for a long time. "There are those who seek revenge. Those who are hurt and react and act out of spite or fear or anger...and there are those who get on with their lives and use their experience as a confirmation, as a new resolve to live and to never let them win and those are the people, Harry, who can live with such things because in them there exists the absolute certainty that...that before I am done in this world that man will meet his retribution."

"You surprise me, Wife."

"I confess, I surprise myself sometimes," Ruth shrugged, "But there it is. It is rather cold, when you think about it, but in all my Christian heart I cannot find it in myself to feel remorse. For most people, yes, but not for him. I confess, I am concerned by his presence here, Harry. I wonder is it entirely to do with Daniel and Zoe's wedding?"

"Quite. I came to much the same conclusion last night. Too many whispered conversations. His contacts in the south west undoubtedly bring messages. Such an underhanded plan as we believe Hunter to have concocted cannot possibly exist in isolation. He must have messengers back and forth to all parts of the empire. Adam Carter has been good enough to agree to take a trip to Plymouth for the summer this year and our friend in the East India Company is keeping an eye on the London docks with a little help from a few friends that our good fellow Lance-Corporal Hunter made on our behalf."

"Good. London may take care of itself for a while. As for Plymouth? It is as likely a place as any," Ruth agreed, "Many a sailor will have landed there at the end of the war in need of some new income. I may have extended the hand of friendship to a few old friends of my father last night in the hope of eliciting any assistance we might have in discovering message routes."

"It is more likely he is using merchant ships running regular routes than navy ships. If only we knew a little more we might have some way of discovering how he is able to relay messages to any co-conspirators."

Quietly, Ruth took her turn without pausing for breath. "Sailors will go wherever they can find the work but there will always be those with loyalty to a good officer. All we need is one or two men. One intercepted message, Harry, that's all it will take. I only told a trusted few, I promise, and I did not disclose the true nature of our work. I thought it might be of assistance to us to have a few friends on side."

Harry nodded. He watched Ruth move her queen and responded with a knight. Ruth blocked with a pawn. "I worry for your safety."

Ruth reached out a hand and touched her husband's fingers. "I know you do." Harry's hand twitched under her touch. Still, after all this time, he still found himself affected by her presence and touch almost as much as they first day that they met. Without words she took up his hand in hers and with great care pressed into the soft tissue with her fingers, finding the rough scar tissue that seemed to bother him more on some day than on others. "My poor old war horse," Ruth smiled, "Whatever will I do with you?"

At that precise moment, Harry decided that Ruth might do whatever she liked with him and so he only smiled and moved his bishop, taking her knight.

Ruth pounced and moved a pawn the last step it needed to get to the back of the board and be Queened. Harry stared, wondering quite how the little blighter had gotten there and in three moves it would be checkmate.

"But...how?"

"Sneakily, dear husband. You were too busy watching my Queen," Ruth smiled smugly.

Later, Major-General Sir Henry James Pearce would point out this moment out as the precise one where he began hatching his plan. In the mean time his jaw hung open as he stared in wonder at the woman he had married. The smartest woman he had ever met, and the loveliest.


End file.
